Rudy Francisco

....I write poems...and say them out loud...sometimes

Show announcement: April 17th. University of Illinois at Urbana Champaign. 6 pm. Illini Union Courtyard Cafe.1401 W Green St, Urbana, IL 61801

I can’t describe the sound of her voice
The music in her lungs
Or the rose pedals in her walk

But I imagine that her words
Are like fig leaves
That dance to the sound of opinions that refuse to be silenced
The conviction in her sentences
Can make an ocean question beauty of its own waves
I bet the stars spend hours in the mirror
Getting pretty
Putting on extra sparkle
Hoping that she will notice them in the moonlight
I imagine the morning gets jealous whenever she wakes up at noon
I bet the knees of twilight buckle whenever she compliments a sunset
I bet the streetlights shine a little bit
Simply because she is standing underneath them
I bet the sidewalk plays a symphony
Just to make sure that her feet have something to listen to in between steps

I can’t describe the sound of her voice
The music in her hugs
Or the rose pedals in her walk
But I know
I know that she is more than just another piece of land waiting to be claimed


She is an acoustic guitar
Waiting patiently for the hands that have been trained to hold her properly
She is a wind chime inside of a culdesac

And her skin is a melody
That very few men will have the pleasure of hearing

—   my favorite. by Rudy Francisco (via maktubian)
Show Announcement: Thursday. April 10th. Chandler Gilbert Community College. Chandler Arizona. 11:15 am. Free and open to the public

"Your God" by Rudy Francisco

twitter: @rudyfrancisco

“I would drink her until my vision is blurry and my friends take away my keys.”

—   Rudy Francisco, A Lot Like You (via alotlikeyouu)

1/30 Boys

One of my earliest memories

begins with me trying to grab something off the coffee table.

By the time I knew it was out of my reach

I was already falling.

That day,

I realized when you hit the ground

it also hits you back.

My father watches me like a car accident he is not involved in.

Doesn’t bother to ask if I’m ok.

Instead he says “get up”

and leaves the room.

The first time I won a fight

I came home with bloody knuckles.

It was the first piece of artwork we hung on the fridge.

The last time

I cried in front of another human being

I apologized for making them feel uncomfortable. 

In America,

We raise boys

the same way we raise guns

and then we wonder why men act like rifles 

This is an absolute honor. Message in a bottle by @artofandres
I get the honor of starring a stage with one of my closest friends and mentor @prettysimplekat. Pomona, CA

"Your God" by Rudy Francisco Hollywood Grand Slam @rudyfrancisco