my braille

I want to cover your eyes, 
And teach your mouth
The precise braille of my body.
I am intoxicated by your smallest act of tenderness
That I could no longer tell the difference between
The rose and its thorns.
vine

[p1: You stupid!
p2: Bet you won’t say it to my face.
p1: Stupid.
p2: Bet you won’t say it in the shower. 
p1: Stupid.
p2: Bet you won’t say it in Braille.
p3: It says “Stupid”.
p2: Aight. ]

Softly

I can never hide
transparent as ice
through a window pane darkly
I am frosted breath
icy neck
and speaking eyes
how you have turned me
so gently to snow
knelt at your knee
listening to prayers
feeling your lips
for words I want to hear
your warm breath is my Braille
stories punched into the air
between us
there is no true silence
I look for you
in the usual places
I turn my cheek away
into my cloak

I’m a young writer. And in my life so far, I’ve always considered life like a brutal poem. For my first tattoo I wanted something unique, special, something that would define me as well as possible.
Then I thought, poetry is the language of love, and love is blind, so this idea of tattooing something in Braille on my body passed through my mind, and stayed since.
“Poésie brute”, which means brutal poetry in French, is now a part of my skin.

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 Braille
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 hopscotch inside of my chest
Yo it climbs onto 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

—  Rudy Francisco
The Fairy To My Tale

You are the sight to my braille
The billowing wind to my luffing sail
The industrious shovel to my empty pail
The swift moving engine to my spiked down rail

You’re the decisive hammer to my rusty nail
The protective shell to my squishy snail
I love you fresh when I’m stale
Always the balance to my skewed scale

You are the diamond to my shale
The summer warmth to my winter hail
You prop me up when I’m frail
You’re the head, of course, of course to my droopy tail

The only key to my lonely jail, the cure to all I ail
Always the mystery on this long and dusty trail
You’re the light upon the hill to my lowly dale
You are after all the happy end to my fairy tale

sck030115

I have this headcanon that whenever Foggy goes anywhere with anyone he automatically starts reading things out loud like menus at restaurants or signs or whatever even when he’s not with Matt because it became a habit for him spending so much time with Matt in college and work. Colleagues look at him confused, his dates will roll their eyes “I can read you know.” And he just blushes and laughs it off and tells them all about his best friend.