The Blessing


She is lovely, and looks at me with loving eyes.

Eyes that remain open and giving,
Despite all the reasons they should not.

She has made her own way in this world
Without becoming bitter;
I wonder at the true toughness of such a woman,
For she has not leaned on others’ shoulders just to get by,
And complained when she did not get what she desired,
Nor built a fortification to hide behind.

And dear God, she is honest in ways inconceivable to some.

Do you know what a rare thing that is?
You and I like to believe we are honest about ourselves, at least.
But few of us have ever looked at our failures directly,
At the little disasters that pepper our days,
And said – without any sense that we were merely acting:
“I did that.”

But to then look deeper,
Finding those terrible motivations that drive such things:
Petty and myriad hatreds,
Cruel and pointless jealousies,
Cravings for attention;
Desires to destroy what we cannot have;
And, seeing them without distortion,
To cut them out.
To actually become different.

No. This is no common person.

She has seen her blemished soul,
And has said, “This is not good enough for me. I am not good enough for me.”
And has not rested in her quest
To be good enough.

Not common at all.

And she can be hurt.
She can be tricked,
Made a fool of,
Taken advantage of.

And yet…

She can play.
Her smile comes from a place
That is as warm as a fine day at the beach.

If ever there was a blessing, it is that smile.

She looks at me with loving eyes,
And I weep for my good fortune.

Which she understands completely.

Los Angeles, 28 October 2013.

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Good People


You know people like this. Or you are like this. You probably know which it is.

Some people won’t believe this.
They will insist that the good are really weak,
And that nobody is really good.
Or that nothing really matters
Because there is no God.

And they aren’t wrong.
Not in their own heads.

But the inside of their own heads
is all the reality they can experience.
Desperate to feel something,
Extremes are all that matter.

And to be wrong… to be wrong about anything
is a pain that can’t be borne.
Because their fragile house of twigs and gauze,
Held together entirely by lies,
Would come undone, and shatter to pieces
Should they ever accept a wrongness in themselves.

But there is good.
And there are good people.

People who will care for the things you care about,
Who make the music you love.
Who will make that special dish, just because you like it.
Who make sure you are warm on that late night ride.
Who want you to be the person you barely imagine you should be.
Who care about your comfort just because it’s you.

People who have your back, and are happy to have you at theirs.

Can you imagine yourself being such a person? Really?

No. No. You can’t afford that.
And so…

Every good act must be belittled, and made nothing of.
And the good must be made fools of, for every kindness.
And thus devalued, you owe nothing in return.

Yet, you want to be stopped.
To be crushed and held,
To be raped and all but murdered.
And you think it is for thrills.

But it is just what you believe you deserve.

Sadly, it is only the good people who will give you better.

And there are no good people.

Los Angeles, 26 October, 2013

The Master Criminal


You have earned this – the enmity of  good men.

But now I see you’re used to it. It’s natural and normal.
For you.

You are not somebody to be loved.
Protected.
Taken care of.
Given nights of passion or days of glorious sunlight.
Except in parody.

And your pretended heartache existed, momentarily,
As a poor attempt to prove to me, or perhaps to yourself,
That you are not without a heart.
You are a poor actor.

Bury your pain, then, in moments
Drenched in vodka
And orgasms.
And perhaps nice hotels and a week in Hawaii.

But you buy all that with false coin.
The real cost –  the one payment you cannot make:

The truth.

Your lies, your ill faith, your acts of incredible deceit,
All bragged about,
And, most stupidly,
To those you plan to betray.

Ah, the master criminal.

October 21, 2013, Los Angeles