Rudy Francisco Quotes

Aren't we all waiting to be read by someone, praying that they'll tell us that we make sense?

She asks me to kill the spider. Instead, I get the most peaceful weapons I can find. I take a cup and a napkin. I catch the spider, put it outside and allow it to walk away. If I am ever caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, just being alive and not bothering anyone, I hope I am greeted with the same kind of mercy.

I bet if we dusted her heart for fingerprints, we’d only find yours.

I loved you the same way that I learned how to ride a bike: Scared… but reckless.

I'm still learning to love the parts of me that no one claps for.

The difference between a garden and a graveyard is only what you choose to put in the ground

The human heart beats approximately 4,000 times per hour and each pulse, each throb, each palpitation is a trophy engraved with the words ‘you are still alive.’ You are still alive. Act like it.

My hobbies include editing my life story, hiding behind metaphors And trying to convince my shadow that I’m someone worth following

Instead of asking why they left, now I ask, what beauty will I create in the space the no longer occupy?

Never ever forget that you are a constellation and I have owned a telescope since the day I was born.

Failure is when you talk yourself out of becoming something amazing.

Dear Hands, I get it. You like writing poetry. But you can’t bring a metaphor to a gunfight.

I swear that when our lips touch, I can taste the next 60 years of my life.

perhaps we should love ourselves so fiercely, that when others see us they know exactly how it should be done.

I write best when I am either, falling in love, or falling apart.

Some say, don't burn your bridges. I say, if necessary, let the kerosene kiss it on the lips, and watch it turn to ash. There's always more than one way to cross the water.

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

Some days I forget that my skin is not a panic room.

My definition of love is being robbed in an alley eight times in a row and hoping that there’s something about today that makes all of this different.

I'm learning that everything doesn't always come back the way you send it. Sometimes, love is more brick and less boomerang.

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

When you choose to be a poet, you become a place that people walk through and then leave when they are ready

I hate you, but I still I miss you, and a part of me still loves you.

I love you in a language that I don’t fully understand. In words that I haven’t found enough courage to forklift out of my chest.

Loving you was the last thing I felt really good at.

you wouldn't let me love both of us at the same time

He sketches you as the antagonist and suddenly his transgressions become deleted scenes. He blames you for his sadness. And this is how the wolf cries boy.

My hobbies include: editing my life story, hiding behind metaphors, and trying to convince my shadow that I’m someone worth following.

She is my musician, and me, I’m her favorite song.

Being black is one of the most extreme sports in America. We don't need to invent new ways of risking our lives because the old ones have been working for decades.

Pour yourself into me and I will not let a drop of you hit the ground.

Youth promises us immortality, but doesn't have the means to uphold its end of the bargain.

And the answer is not every building that shakes will collapse. The answer is not everything that chips will crumble.

I’m just sorry that she had to be your fortune cookie. Broken so you could learn a lesson you already should’ve known.

I hope I haven’t already driven past my greatest moments. I hope there is something beautiful on the horizon that’s just as impatient as I am. Something so eager, it wants to meet me halfway. A moment that is diligently staring at its watch, trembling with nervousness, frustrated, and bursting at the seams, wondering what’s taking me so long to arrive.

My biggest fear is forgetting why I fell in love with writing. My biggest dream is never allowing that to happen.

Let's sing loudly, offbeat and out of tune. Let the world know we don't care how it sounds because the only key we need is already in the ignition.

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

I promise I will love you as if it’s the only thing I’ve ever done correctly.

They now know solitude does not scare people like us and our absence is something that we are not afraid to give to those who call for it.

I am learning that the difference between a garden and a graveyard is only what you choose to put in the ground.

I heard that karma is vengeful and is also a light sleeper. So I’ve chosen to love you like this. Quietly.

Remember, every year two million people die of dehydration. So it doesn’t matter if the glass is half full or half empty. There’s water in the cup. Drink it and stop complaining.

Trying to convince my shadow that I am someone worth following.

Speak because your voice is currency, and their comfort isn't worth your silence.

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 want my wedding will look like But I imagine The women who pins my last 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 correctl 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

I've never been in the military, but I have a purple heart: I got it from beating myself up over things that I can't fix.

Do you know the human body is approximately sixty percent water? When I walk into a room full of people, all I see is an ocean.

I wonder how long it will take the planet to tell us we can’t live here and the locks are changed.

Five: Cupid is irresponsible, and I’m tired of him using me for target practice.

I’m still learning to love the parts of me that no one claps for.

Maybe this whole time, I already had the things I've been asking others to give me.

I have an odd fascination with sandcastles and ice sculptures: things that will only last a few moments. That’s also why I fall in love with women who will never love me back.

Most of what I know I've learned from falling, from placing the brighter side of my hands against the earth and pressing until vertical. The ground has taught me more about flight than the sky ever could.

They now know solitude does not scare people like us

Volcano surfing is a sport in which a person rides down an active volcano at speeds up to 50 miles per hour using nothing but a wooden board. When I heard about this activity, I thought to myself, it must be nice to feel so safe, you have to invent new ways to put yourself in danger.

Tell me how blessed we are to have tragedy / so small it can fit on the tips of our tongues. (from 'Complainers')

it must be nice to feel so safe, you have to invent new ways to put yourself in danger.

am learning that this body is not a shotgun. I am learning that this body is not a pistol. I am learning that a man is not defined by what he can destroy.

The word “repurpose” means to take an object and give it amnesia. It means to make something forget what it’s been trained to do so you can use it for a better reason. I am learning that this body is not a shotgun. I am learning that this body is not a pistol. I am learning that a man is not defined by what he can destroy. I am learning that a person who only knows how to fight can only communicate in violence and that shouldn’t be anyone’s first language. I am learning that the difference between a garden and a graveyard is only what you choose to put in the ground.

I wonder how long it took to convince the first rifle that it could hold a note instead of a bullet, but still fire into a crowd and make everyone move

Yes, I'm fine; yes, I'm always fine. No, I'm not just saying that so you'll leave me alone.

When People Ask How I’m Doing I want to say, my depression is an angry deity, a jealous god a thirsty shadow that wrings my joy like a dishrag and makes juice out of my smile. I want to say, getting out of bed has become a magic trick. I am probably the worst magician I know. I want to say, this sadness is the only clean shirt I have left and my washing machine has been broken for months, but I’d rather not ruin someone’s day with my tragic honesty so instead I treat my face like a pumpkin. I pretend that it’s Halloween. I carve it into something acceptable. I laugh and I say, “I’m doing alright.

Alternatives to “Bae” The one who wins all of the arguments, the keeper of the remote, the girl who turns my stomach into a butterfly nest, the pink Starburst, the one I will always choose first no matter what else is in the pack, the red Kool-Aid, the right amount of sugar, the pulp, the part that makes the juice seem real.

On the day you couldn't hold yourself together anymore, you called for me, voice crackling like two sets of knuckles before an altercation. I found you, looking like a damaged wine glass. I hugged your shatter, I cut all of my fingers trying to jigsaw puzzle you back together. When it was over, you looked at the stains on the carpet and blamed me for making a mess.

Sometimes I'm the mess. Sometimes I'm the broom. On the hardest days, I have to be both.

They will push you away, tell you to leave, but have no idea how good you are at following instructions.

They now know solitude does not scare people like us and our absence is something that we are not afraid to give to those who call for it.

The word “repurpose” means to take an object and give it amnesia.

Simeona My mother wears her wrinkles the way an ocean wears a wave. She is the only body of water that refuses to let me drown

Most people have no idea that tragedy and silence often have the exact same address.

On May 26th, 2003, Aaron Ralston was hiking, a boulder fell on his right hand, he waited four days, he then amputated his own arm with a pocketknife. On New Year’s Eve, a woman was bungee jumping, the cord broke, she fell into a river and had to swim back to land in crocodile-infested waters with a broken collarbone. Claire Champlin was smashed in the face by a five-pound watermelon being propelled by a slingshot. Mathew Brobst was hit by a javelin. David Striegl was actually punched in the mouth by a kangaroo. The most amazing part of these stories is when asked about the experience they all smiled, shrugged and said “I guess things could’ve been worse.” So go ahead, tell me you’re having a bad day. Tell me about the traffic. Tell me about your boss. Tell me about the job you’ve been trying to quit for the past four years. Tell me the morning is just a townhouse burning to the ground and the snooze button is a fire extinguisher. Tell me the alarm clock stole the keys to your smile, drove it into 7 am and the crash totaled your happiness. Tell me. Tell me how blessed are we to have tragedy so small it can fit on the tips of our tongues. When Evan lost his legs he was speechless. When my cousin was assaulted she didn’t speak for 48 hours. When my uncle was murdered, we had to send out a search party to find my father’s voice. Most people have no idea that tragedy and silence often have the exact same address. When your day is a museum of disappointments, hanging from events that were outside of your control, when you feel like your guardian angel put in his two weeks notice two months ago and just decided not to tell you, when it seems like God is just a babysitter that’s always on the phone, when you get punched in the esophagus by a fistful of life. Remember, every year two million people die of dehydration. So it doesn’t matter if the glass is half full or half empty. There’s water in the cup. Drink it and stop complaining. Muscle is created by lifting things that are designed to weigh us down. When your shoulders are heavy stand up straight and call it exercise. Life is a gym membership with a really complicated cancellation policy. Remember, you will survive, things could be worse, and we are never given anything we can’t handle. When the whole world crumbles, you have to build a new one out of all the pieces that are still here. Remember, you are still here. The human heart beats approximately 4,000 times per hour and each pulse, each throb, each palpitation is a trophy, engraved with the words “You are still alive.” You are still alive. So act like it.

I know that our hands break things just as frequent as we can fix them. And we often forget that sexism / is a family heirloom that we've been passing down for generations. As men, it is important that we start asking ourselves / What will the boys learn from us?

Jim Crow may have left the nest but our streets are still covered in his feathers

I take my compliments the same way I take my coffee. I don’t drink coffee.

a weapon will always be a weapon but we choose how we fight the war

Why Did You Leave? Because you wouldn’t let me love both of us at the same time.

Love is clumsy, and my heart refuses to wear a helmet.

Of all the things I could've been, I'm so glad to be this. Thank god I didn't actually become who I pretended to be, back when I had no idea who I was.

I bet he pours whiskey on his dreams until they taste like good ideas,

The most destructive instruments can still create a melody worth dancing to.

How beautiful it is to grind yourself into sand, offer the grain of you to anyone willing to listen. Hoping they will carry your debris into places you’ll never go.

trying to convince my shadow that I’m someone worth following.

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.

Often, the space between two people can be measured by the amount of times they look at each other ..and feel nothing.

Crickets have been known to eat their own wings, and I too have a tendency to destroy what helps me get off the ground

And long after I have given up, my heart still searches for you without my permission.” —Rudy Francisco,

When you choose to be a poet, when you choose to spill like this, bleed like this, cry like this, your pain becomes an exhibit. A place for people to walk through and then leave when they are ready. No one ever asks a museum if it's okay.

When you are the only black man in the whole neighborhood, your skin is that one friend who meets everyone before you do. It wears a wife beater and house shoes, it knocks over the neighbor's mailbox, it cusses in front of the kids and plays the music too loud, but you actually don't do any of those things. It's 7 PM. It's Wednesday and you are just walking home.

Instructions Gather your mistakes, rinse them with honesty and self-reflection, let dry until you can see every choice and the regret becomes brittle, cover the entire surface in forgiveness, remind yourself that you are human and this too is a gift.

I enjoy.... laughing for absolutely no reason at all, but I don't allow myself to cry as often as I need to. I have solar-powered confidence and a battery-operated smile. My hobbies include: editing my life story, hiding behind metaphors, and trying to convince my shadow that I'm someone worth following. I don't know much, but I do know this: Heaven is full of music, and God listens to my heartbeat

Remember we are never given anything that we can't handle. When the world crumbles around you, sometimes you gotta look at the wreckage and then build a new one out of all the pieces that are still here. Remember that you are still here. The human heart, it beats approximately 4,000 times per hour. And each pulsin' and each throbbin' and each palpitation is a trophy engraved with the words "you are still alive.

hope the camera gods bless you with a steady hand great lighting, the perfect angle, and enough storage space to save the results. May you snap the picture at the right time, eyes open and smiling with your entire face. Months from now, I hope you stumble across the picture and you are ambushed by your own radiance.

Now, preschools are having Active Shooter Drills. Now, more high schools are installing metal detectors. Now, we’re talking about giving guns to the teachers so they can protect the students, but that’s like burning all the trees in the spring so the forest fire won’t take them in the summer. America, this is climate change.

And sometimes it all arrives at once. The anxiety, the fear, the voices that scratch your confidence like a chalkboard and somehow all the oxygen in the room suddenly becomes water and you begin to wonder if you have what it takes to grow gills. You wonder if you can blend in with the fish. You wonder if you will ever breathe again. And the answer is not every building that shakes will collapse. The answer is not everything that chips will crumble. The answer is this is temporary and yes, you will.

To anyone who is brave enough to love me, Do you know that the human body is approximately sixty percent water? When I walk into a room full of people all I see is an ocean.

I held you the way a boat holds water.

make something forget what it’s been trained to do so you can use it for a better reason.

A moment that is diligently staring at its watch, trembling with nervousness, frustrated, and bursting at the seams, wondering what’s taking me so long to arrive.

To the man standing on the corner holding the sign that said “God hates gays.” I’ve never seen, exactly who it is that you paperclip your knees, meld your hands together and pray to But I think I know what he looks like: I bet your God is about 5’10”. I bet he weighs 185. Probably stands the way a high school diploma does when it’s next to a GED. I bet your god has a mullet. I bet he wears flannel shirts with no sleeves, a fanny pack and says words like “getrdun.” I bet your god—I bet your god—I bet your god watches FOX news, Dog the Bounty Hunter, voted for John McCain, and loves Bill O’Reilly. I bet your god lives in Arizona. I bet his high school served racism in the cafeteria and offered “hate speech” as a second language. I bet he has a swastika inside of his throat, and racial slurs tattooed to his tongue just to make intolerance more comfortable in his mouth. I bet he has a burning cross as a middle finger and Jim Crow underneath his nails. Your god is a confederate flags wet dream conceived on a day when the sky decided to slice her own wrists, I bet your god has a drinking problem. I bet he sees the bottom of the shot glass more often than his own children. I bet he pours whiskey on his dreams until they taste like good ideas, Probably cusses like an electric guitar with Tourette’s plugged into an ocean. I bet he yells like a schizophrenic nail gun, damaging all things that care about him enough to get close. I bet there are angels in Heaven with black eyes and broken halos who claimed they fell down the stairs. I bet your god would’ve made Eve without a mouth and taught her how to spread her legs like a magazine that she will never ever ever be pretty enough to be in. Sooner or later you will realize that you are praying to your own shadow, that you are standing in front of mirrors and are worshipping your own reflection. Your God stole my god’s identity and I bet he’s buying pieces of heaven on eBay. So next time you bend your knees, next time you bow your head I want you to tell your god— that my god is looking for him.