“A lot like you” by Rudy Francisco

A lot like you

 

I was told
The average girl begins to plan her wedding at the age of 7
She picks the colors and the cake first

By the age of 10
She knows time,
And location

By 17
She’s already chosen a gown
2 bridesmaids
And a maid of honor

By 23
She’s waiting for a man
Who wont break out in hives when he hears the word “commitment”
Someone who doesn’t smell like a Band-Aid drenched in lonely
Someone who isn’t a temporary solution to the empty side of the bed
Someone
Who’ll hold her hand like it’s the only one they’ve ever seen

To be honest
I don’t know what kind of tux I’ll be wearing
I have no clue what my wedding will look like

But I imagine
The woman who pins my last name to hers
Will butterfly down the aisle
Like a 5 foot promise

I imagine
Her smile
Will be so large that you’ll see it on google maps
And know exactly where our wedding is being held

The woman that I plan to marry
Will have champagne in her walk
And I will get drunk on her footsteps

When the pastor asks
If I take this woman to be my wife
I will say yes before he finishes the sentence
I’ll apologize later for being impolite
But I will also explain him
That our first kiss happened 6 years ago
And I’ve been practicing my “Yes”
For past 2,165 days

When people ask me about my wedding
I never really know what to say
But when they ask me about my future wife
I always tell them
Her eyes are the only Christmas lights that deserve to be seen all year long
I say
She thinks too much
Misses her father
Loves to laugh
And she’s terrible at lying
Because her face never figured out how to do it correctly

I tell them
If my alarm clock sounded like her voice
My snooze button would collect dust
I tell them
If she came in a bottle
I would drink her until my vision is blurry and my friends take away my keys
If she was a book
I would memorize her table of contents
I would read her cover-to-cover
Hoping to find typos
Just so we can both have a few things to work on

Because aren’t we all unfinished?
Don’t we all need a little editing?
Aren’t we all waiting to be proofread by someone?
Aren’t we all praying they will tell us that we make sense
She don’t always make sense
But her imperfections are the things I love about her the most

I don’t know when I will be married
I don’t know where I will be married
But I do know this

Whenever I’m asked about my future wife
I always say

…She’s a lot like you

 

~ Rudy Francisco has a new chapbook, No Gravity, available HERE on Amazon. Follow Rudy on Twitter.

“Scars / To the new Boyfriend” by 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 someone that’s spiteful enough to not care about you anymore.

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, loving you was the last thing that I was really good at.

Four, you wanna know how I got these scars. Well, 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, I 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 wanna know how I got these scars? Well, I swallowed my pride and then it clawed it’s way out of my mouth and Nine, I realized that I was never really your boyfriend, I guess I was really just your height man.

Ten, I hope your next boyfriend gets small pox.
Ten Yes I said small pox. Ten, I hate you. ten, I miss you. ten, but I still love you. ten, it’s hard for me to count when I get emotional.
Ten I heard that over 90%, 90% of human interaction is not verbal..so..
Ten, if I could, I would tie your arms to a day dream and then auction you off to my fondest memories.

To the new boyfriend

To the random dude who started dating my ex girlfriend two days after we broke up (yes, I read that on facebook). When I saw that you were in a relationship with the girl that I thought I would someday spend the rest of my life with, I walked outside. I said to myself, “There’s no way Ashton Kutcher is gonna catch me off guard.” I waited 45 minutes and then I realized, there hasn’t been a new episode of “punked” in almost three years, so I guess I’m the only practical joke in this entire situation.
One: The first time I saw you and her in a picture, I wanted to take my entire arm, shove it inside of the computer and snatch the happiness right off of your face.

Two, if I ever see you in the street, I’m probably going to punch you in the throat. I apologize in advance.

Three, I’m sorry for hating you so much. And I know that it makes no sense to have this much anger toward a man that I have never met face to face, but my definition of love is being robbed in an alley 8 times in a row and hoping there’s something about today that makes all of this different. There is nothing logical about cutting off the most important parts of yourself then putting them inside hands that shake, that tremble, that crack like a hatian sidewalk.

Four, there is nothing rational about love. Love stutters when it gets nervous, love trips over its own shoelaces. Love is clumsy, and my heart doesn’t wear a helmet.

Four, cupid is fucking irresponsible, and I’m tired of him using me for target practice.

Five, I was told that time would heal all wounds. But what exactly do you do on days when it feels like the hands on your clock have arthritis?

Six, she always wore her heart on her sleeve. So tell me, why do you look so familiar?

Seven, I think I’ve seen you somewhere in her smile.

Eight, I think I’ve heard you in her laughter, I bet if we dusted her heart for fingerprints, we would only find yours.

Nine, you see I have this envelope, I carry it with me all the time, it’s full of all the butterflies I felt the first time she relaxed the velcro on her lips and smiled in my direction. Most of them are still alive. I can still feel their wings through the paper. I suppose these belong to you, too.”

 

~ Rudy Francisco has a new chapbook, No Gravity, available HERE on Amazon. Follow Rudy on Twitter.

“Dear Ursula” by Melissa May

“You, big lady, were the only Disney character who ever looked like me. And while you may not have had the waist line of a princess, I’ll be goddamned if you didn’t have the swagger of a queen.”

Performing during prelims at the 2014 Women of the World Poetry Slam. Melissa placed 7th overall in the tournament.

via Button Poetry

 

For more information on Melissa May and her upcoming book SparkleFat visit WordsDance.

“A Good Day” by Kait Rokowski

Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.”

– Kait Rokowski, “A Good Day”