It’s two minutes to 3 am and I just came from Ocean Park’s Halloween Bash. I’ve so many things to do for tomorrow and for the next two weeks and I’ve no idea how to do them. I am so behind on everything, golly, and I can’t sleep because I’m still full and I’m afraid to have nightmares especially after the zombies/ghosts/crazy spinning-turning-you-upside-down rides we took. And then I saw something from my friend’s tumblr (hearticulate.tumblr.com) and I feel like I can sleep now. Haha, thanks sexy beast. Gives me hope.
“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 every now and then love takes a little more work then 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 airbrushed; It’s pure, and imperfect – just the way that God intended.
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 would be about you. About how I love you the same way 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 would 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 some way 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 sang 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’re like violin strings that play symphonies every time you blink. If I was a love poet I would write about how I melt in front of you like an ice sculpture. Every time I hear the vibration in your voice and 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 into one of my ribs just so that I would never have to spend an entire day without you. And I swear, I’m not a love poet. If I was to wake up tomorrow and decide that I really want to write about love. You’re my first poem; it would be about you.
Let’s put it like this, I wanna be your ex-boyfriend’s stunt man. I wanna 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 60 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’d let my heart create the baseline; we would create the greatest love song of all time whenever we stand next to each other. Together, we could be music. And when my friends ask if you’re my girlfriend, I’ll tell them, “No, she’s my musician.” And me? I’m her favorite song.”
— Rudy Francisco
P.S. Random or not so random. Unlike most people, I learned how to ride a bike without falling down. My tita and my yaya then would hold my bike and run alongside me when I still couldn’t balance it. When I’m about to fall down, I’d just scream and they’d catch up with me. I loved the feeling when I finally did it on my own but when I had a bad experience with it later on, I didn’t want to ride it anymore. Hmm.
The problem with you is that you’re always afraid of making a mistake (Estrella 2011).
Hindi mo na kailangang mapaso para malaman mong masakit yun (Garces 2009).