"How Is Your Heart?"
Charles Bukowski (1920-1994)
During my worst times
on the park benches,
in the jails,
or living with whores,
I always had this certain contentment—
I wouldn't call it happiness—
it was more of an inner balance
that settled for whatever was occurring
and it helped in the factories
and when relationships went wrong
with the girls.
It helped through the wars,
and the hangovers,
the back alley fights,
the hospitals.
To awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade—
this was the craziest kind
of contentment.
And to walk across the floor
to an old dresser
with a cracked mirror—
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
What matters most
is how well you walk
through the fire.
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