You Are Beautiful (A Valetine's Day Poem)

I initially wanted to make this a virelay,

But words won't come like I'm drunk with Tokay.

First let me empty my ashtray.

You're still single and it's Valentine's Day,

Should we go ahead and shout "Mayday"?

Let's go to the bay where awaits is a quay,

Where your beauty never fades away.

And, before you end your day,

Let me just remind you to submit your "WorkDay"

How many times have I told you, “you are beautiful”?

You have insights that are so respectful,

I wish you could dance just as graceful.

Sometimes you scare me when you get all fretful,

But your smile enlightens my day no matter how dreadful.

You are one in a septillion,

Your beauty is at its truest actualization.

Not to acknowledge it is to encourage abomination.

Hope this poem won't trigger your agitation,

But instead put you up in elation.

Now enough with the rhyme,

 'Coz it doesn't really chime.

Oh well look at that, it still has a rhyme.

I said enough with the rhyme,

 'Coz it doesn't really chime.

Like a mime, now let me count to nine.

One.

I honestly thought of sending you flowers, but thought it might freak your mom out.

So I've decided to write you a poem instead.

See, you're not the only thoughtful friend.

Hope you like it and Happy Valentine's Day!

Two

I know you think you have the potential to acquire Alzheimer's,

To forget all that matters,

To look at familiar faces like they're from strangers.

To forget every beauty, marvel and colors.

It's a horrible idea,

Alzheimer's is colorless.

We might not be able to find the algorithm to solve it.

But if in any case you forget,

And you start angling your way to a patch of shadows,

Where it'll be a straight sprint towards the fence of forgetfulness,

I'll always remind you that “You are beautiful”.

 Three

You keep saying that your handwriting is ugly.

It isn't.

All the wonders and awes that your hand writes,

Drowns whatever imperfections your scribbling has.

Like thorns in roses,

Present but barely noticeable.

Keep writing.

Four

I'm no Ashton Kutcher and don't have a mixed tape for when your day is red,

But when your day is calendared,

I'll make sure to get out of the way until all things are ciphered.

I don't want to be caught in a situation that's flustered,

When linings in your uterus are utterly dismembered.

Five

Yes, number Four is about PMS.

Six

This is no longer sounding like a poem,

But an Invisible Dialogue like a blog we both know.

Seven

Eyih, Eunice, Paolinn, Preky, and Chesca are all lucky to have you as their friend.

And you are lucky to have them.

Keep the friendship.

Eight

I honestly thought of sending you flowers, but thought it might freak your mom out.

So I've decided to write you a poem instead.

See, I'm not even sure how to give this to you.

But I hope you like it and Happy Valentine's Day!

Nine

Don't ever, ever forget that You Are Beautiful.

How You Smile

The Worst Way To Miss Somebody

Click HERE to listen to the worst way to miss somebody.

"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."

Love poem medley by Rudy Francisco at Mira Costa…: http://youtu.be/MR1_2lFXJI4

Real Love

Real love has a flavor,
And it tastes a lot like you.
I see you beyond your surface.
I see you thru your soul.

Missing Her, Doubting Myself

I’m floating on air when we’re together,.
And I dread the times when we’re apart, like now, despite having just spent the last couple of hours with her.
I know that I have the worst way to miss somebody.
When I'm right beside her and I miss her anyway.
I miss her from the time she says her Hellos, because I know that Good Byes are inevitable.
The price of the memory is the memory of sorrows it brings.
I have been trying to drown my sorrow, only to be made aware that my sorrows know how to swim.

I hate what I'm feeling right now.
I hate the feeling of saying how I feel for someone,
The same nervousness that quickly segues to dread, that always causes me to walk away.
I told her anyway.

After telling her how I feel about her, I have yet to get a response.
Everyday I'm hoping that she'd give me an answer.
To remove awkwardness as days pass,  am now down to pretending I didn't tell her how I feel.
But I know that pretending something's not there, doesn't make it go away.
I feel like asking her upfront for an answer.
And I can’t take not knowing what the next day will bring us—the uncertainty is sawing me in two.
Everyday there's a nervousness that’s hard to imagine time will ever assuage.
” The only limits of tomorrow are the doubts we have today.”, I remind myself.

Haunted

I killed my pride.
I buried it six feet below the ground.
Now, it has found its way back to me.
It has crawled it's way out of the grave,
And now, grabs me by the throat.
Haunting me,
Daunting me.
Shoving it's very existence in my face,
Showing me thousands of reasons why I shouldn't have abandoned it.