LOVE POEM MEDLEY

"I want you to bite my lip until I can no longer speak. And then suck my ex girlfriend’s name out of my mouth just to make sure she never comes up in our conversations. I’m going to be honest, I’m not really a love poet. In fact, every time I try to write about love my hands cramp… just to show me how painful love can be. And sometimes my pencils break, just to prove to me that every now and then love takes a little more work than you planned.

See I heard that love is blind so, I write all my poems in brail. And my poems are never actually finished because true love is endless. I always believed that real love is kind of like a super model before she’s air brushed; it’s pure and imperfect, just the way that God intended. See I’m going to be honest, I’m not a love poet. But if I was to wake up tomorrow morning and decide that I really wanted to write about love I swear that my first poem… it would be about you.

About how I loved you the same way that I learned how to ride a bike: Scared… but reckless with no training wheels or elbow pads so my scars can tell the story of how I fell for you. You see, I’m not really a love poet. But if I was I’d write about how I see your face in every cloud and your reflection in every window, you see I’ve written like a million poems hoping that somehow maybe someway you’ll jump out of the page and be closer to me because if you were here, right now, I would massage your back until your skin sings songs that your lips don’t even know the words to.

Until your heartbeat sounds like my last name and you smile like the pacific ocean, I want to drink the sunlight in your skin. If I was a love poet, I’d write about how you have the audacity to be beautiful, even on days when everything around you is ugly you see I’d write about your eyelashes and how they are like violin strings that play symphonies every time you blink.

If I was a love poet I’d write about how I melt in front of you like an ice sculpture, every time I hear the vibration in your voice so whenever I see your name on the caller ID my heart, it plays hop scotch inside of my chest. Yo it climbs on to my ribs like monkey bars and I feel like a child all over again. I know this sounds strange but every now and then I pray that God somehow turns you back in to one of my ribs just so that I would never have to spend an entire day without you.

I swear, I’m not a love poet. But if I was to wake up tomorrow morning and decide that I really wanted to write about love, my first poem it would be about you. And after all of that she was like, so how do you feel about me? And I said, put it like this: I want to be your ex boyfriend’s stunt man. I want to do everything that he never had the courage to do like… trust you.

I swear that when our lips touch I can taste the next sixty years of my life. And some days I want to swallow stacks of your pictures just so you can be a part of me for a little bit longer. If I could I would sample your smile and then I would let my heart beat, do the bass line, we would create the greatest love song of all time. Whenever, we stand next to each other, love I was the only one made for you and you can be at last my Etta James. I’ll be oh child when you’re in pain or you could be candy coated drops of rain even though it never rains in Southern California. And together, we could be music.

And when my friends ask if you’re my girlfriend, I’ll say no. She is my musician. And me… I’m her favorite song.”

The First Time We Said Hello… 

The first time we said hello, it felt as though pterodactyls were flapping their wings against the cold core of my stomach. That day, Cupid didn’t have an arrow large enough to hold a love this size, so he high-jacked a plane and flew it into my chest. You make me wanna jump off the highest building in the city just to prove that I’m invincible with you next to me. I’m saying like, don’t text me or instant message me, trust it’s important that I hear your voice tonight. It’s crucial that we speak today. And if I said that I really, really, really wanted to get to know you it would just be an understatement. Me, I wanna pour your thoughts in a wine glass and sip them slow on a straw like I’m on vacation. I wanna light candles and bathe for hours in secrets that you just never had the courage to say out loud. I’m ready. I’m ready to grab on to your dreams and jump in the pool headfirst just to see if hope still floats, I wanna float next to you. I’m talking like, ten feet above cumuolous clouds so no one could ever rain on our parade. As if the only card game we both understand is spades, let’s play. And if I win, you have to let me fall in love with you. If I win all you have to do is let me fall in love with you. If I could, I’d sing you a song. If I could, I’d write you a poem. If I could, I would sample your smile and I’d let my heartbeat do the bassline, we would create the greatest love song of all time. Whenever we stand next to each other love, I was the only one made for you. And you, you could be At Last by Etta James. I’ll be “ohh child, whenever you’re in pain”, or you can be “candy-coated drops of rain”, even though it never rains in Southern California. And we could be music. So if my friends ask if you’re my girlfriend I’ll say no. She is my musician. And me, well I guess you could say, I’m her favourite song.

“You see,

I want that my-friends-think-I’m-crazy kind of love.

That reckless kind of love.

That wake-up-early-make-you-breakfast kind of love.

That crack-open-my-life-and-say-“you gotta see this” kind of love.

Forget the shallow stuff, I want the deepest kind of love.

That I-want-to-stay-up-late-and-tell-you all-my-secrets kind of love.

That every-time-I-see-you,-I-fall-to-pieces kind of love.

I want that stand-next-to-me kind of love.

That you-are-my-destiny kind of love.

That no-matter-what-happens,-you-always-get-the-best-of-me kind of love.

That you-get-my-heart,-and-my-mind,-this-world-gets-the-rest-of-me kind of love.

That invest-in-me kind of love.

Because-you-already-know-that-I’ve-invested-in-you kind of love.

That when you get home upset, you don’t have to say anything. I-already-know what-to-do kind of love.

                                         

                                                                                         I want love.”

MY PERFECT MAN

although i’ve already found him, if i had to design him, he’d be a little something like this…

broad shoulders. wide enough that i can set my pride down on them and know it won’t fall off when he moves.

soft lips. but big enough that i feel them even before we are kissing and even after he pulls away. the kind that linger, holding me in this unrecognizable, inconceivable state of limbo where i don’t know which way is up anymore, nor do i care. the kind of lips that work as gods do, destroying me at their leisure but also healing me with their touch. 

eyes. of no particular color, just depth. deep enough to hold sea monsters and sunken treasure, deep enough to hold every essence of me. deep enough to never end, but shallow enough that i can catch a glimpse of the bottom if i jump in with enough force. 

long arms. long enough that he can reach me when no one else can, and it doesn’t strain him. the top shelves of my insecurities would be quick morning stretches. arms long enough to wrap around me twice, because once has never done it.

the smile. the smile.

a chest. a chest that can hold up even the heaviest of battles, most of which occur in my head, without the slightest recognition of its power. a chest whose rhythm is the heartbeat “to my last name.” a chest with more horsepower than a rocketship and more manpower than an army. a chest with passion tattooed along its ribcage and glory burnt into its chest hair.

a soul. a soul that breathes in unison with mine. a soul that understands i’d rather live in a sandcastle than a real one, that understands i put my hands in my pockets only when they aren’t in yours, that looks for nothing and no one but yet still finds all the time, that sets fires in the shape of my name and that always…always smiles when i call the dishwasher the “washing machine.”

SOMEDAY

You will throw a penny in a wishing wellAnd it will chokeBecause your dreamsAre just too big for it to swallow

When the wind disagrees with your voiceWhen the walls laughWhen the trees make jokesWhen the floor questions your footsteps Know the truth is a drum machineInside of a house that god built behind your ribsYour heart is an ocean of possibilityAnd it beats like a song called“Right here, right now”

Take ownership of your choicesBecause sometimesThat’s all we have left to hold onto

I dare uTo be more than the sound of textbook pages blowing in the wind            More than a desk in a crowded room More than a Xerox copy of an article that you didn’t want to readFor a class you never wanted to takeI dare you to be more than a scantron sheet waiting for answers 

Be the pencil that writes our historyBe the pen that refuses to be erasedAnd when the real world stands in front of youAll daunting and scaryStare into its eyesAnd say“I’ve been waiting for you”“I’m ready”

And say it like you mean it  

“i’m scared to death of everything that’s gonna happenevery moment that my body hits the groundi’m clumsyyesterday i tripped over my self-esteemi landed on my pride and it shattered like an iphone with a broken facenow i can’t even tell who’s trying to give me a compliment…i don’t allow myself to cry as often as i need toi have solar powered confidenceand a battery operated smilemy hobbies include editing my life storyhiding behind metaphorsand trying to convince my shadowthat i’m someone worthwhile.”

— my honest poem, rudy Francisco

“You are the prefix to our first breath. You breathe sunshine on days that are darker than the Great Depression. You whisper floodlight when rolling blackouts disconnect the power to our dreams. Men, we are like towers erected over crowded streets. Women, you are like the steel beams in the building that hold us in place, but often, we forget that we can’t stand without you. Sometimes, we just don’t remember that you hold the key that opens the entrance to the earth. We openly worship these earthly things instead of the gate keeper that open the door to let us in. So this poem is for the strong women. This is for every woman who knows that it’s far better to be single than have a man that will never understand your worth. This…This is for the women who are not afraid to cut a man loose if he’s not doing his job. This…This is for the women who get hated on by girls with insecurities tattooed to their faces. Sweetheart, they hate you. They hate you because their confidence is crippled. They got handicapped thoughts and self esteem has never, ever, ever been any compliant. This is for the strong women. This is for the women who will never dance half naked in a hip-hop video because they understand how sacred their bodies are. This…This is for the women who look in the mirror and see the closest thing on this earth to God. I said…This…This is for the women who remind me of my mother. This is for the strong women. Remember, this world wasn’t built for you. So if need be, you tear it to the ground, resurrect it in your image, and make sure it’s just as beautiful as you are.”

— For Those Who Remind Me of My Mother - Rudy Francisco

Scars ...

One.If I could, I would nail these hands to the edges of stars. I would sacrifice this body to the sky, hoping to resurrect that someone spiteful enough to not care at all about you.

Two.Staple me to a cross.Pierce my side with a broken promise and I will bleed all the crippled reasons why you deserve one more chance.

Three.Your bed smells like the last thing I was really good at.

Four.You want to know how I got these scars.I ripped every last piece of you out of my smile.

Five.I whispered you stardust.

Six.I spoke you into sunflowers.

Seven.I dipped my hands in forever, touched you infinity,treated you as if you were the last molecule of oxygen inside of a gas chamber.

I was good to you. 

Eight.You want to know how I got these scars.I swallowed my pride and then it clawed its way out of my mouth.

Nine.I realized that I was never really your girlfriend.I was just some little game to you.

Ten.I hope your next girlfriend gets small pox.

Ten.Yes, I said small pox.

Ten.I hate you.

Ten.I miss you. Ten. I love you.

It’s hard for me to count when I get emotional.. 

Ten.I heard the 90% of human interaction is non-verbal, so..

—-

Ten.If I could, I would tie your arms to a daydream and then auction you off to my fondest memories.

See, I wrote this poem in my own spinal fluid. I put it on the backbone of a white flag so that before you read it, you already know that I’ve given up.I’ll just keep you here, shackled to the most important chapter of my life story, pressed into the basement of my eyelids like liquid salvation, so I remember you beautiful, with amazing underneath your wings and an orchid smile.

You gorgeous earthquake.

You cracked hour glass with sand spilling from behind your ribs.

You wasted my time. 

How dare you linger on my lips then kiss me like a stuttering apology with excuses stapled to the roof of your mouth.I still remember you like a dream, tattoed to the inner walls of a long-term memory but some days,

I wonder if you existed at all. 

And of course,

You want to know how I got these scars.

Fine. I’ll tell you.

I got these scars the day that I fell in love with you…

I fell face first.