Deconstructing "Good Person"

I thought I’d start a new series called "Deconstructing." My poems are always written in simple language, but I would like to offer additional depth by explaining the concepts inside them and the inspiration behind them. The first one I've picked is "Good Person."

I've always been fascinated by truly good people. The ones who seem to move through the chaos of the world with a steady, internal compass. They aren't necessarily loud; they show up in quiet, deep conversations, and you're left thinking, "I can't believe you chose that path when no one would have blamed you for taking the easier one." They possess a kind of integrity that feels like an anchor in a world where justice often feels blind. My poem, "Good Person," is a letter to that ideal. It's a question, a personal confession, and a promise, all at once.

The Inspiration: The Silhouette at the Peak
The "you" in this poem isn't one specific person. It's an archetype. It’s the embodiment of the quiet strength and integrity I’ve witnessed in these rare individuals: people who, despite their own struggles, manage to be a source of objective goodness.

I've spent a lot of my life deconstructing the motives and shadows of others. I've seen firsthand how people can twist their intentions, confusing "control for safety, projection for clarity, punishment for love." It's work that would make anyone cynical. The inspiration for this poem came from the profound respect I have for those who seem to rise above that noise. They are the ones who have done the hard, internal work to be a source of genuine, unconditional care in a world that is so often transactional.

The poem is me, standing at the bottom of the mountain, looking up at this ideal and asking a genuine question: "How?" Its meaning is introspective, spiritual, and ultimately, one of admiration.

The Meaning: The Messy Climb
This poem is, at its heart, a confession of my own journey. The lines "I've done harm trying to do right" and "With mud on my palms" are my acknowledgment of my own past. I've made mistakes. I've been the person who tried to change himself to fit someone else's ideal, who stayed in unhealthy dynamics out of a misplaced sense of hope, and whose good intentions didn't always lead to good outcomes.

The "voices behind me telling me to rest, to give in, to choose comfort" are real. They are the voices of past trauma and cynicism. They are the temptation to stop doing the hard work of self-reflection, to stop holding myself to a high standard, and to just accept that the world is a broken place.

This poem is about rejecting those voices. It's about acknowledging that the path to becoming a "good person" is not a clean, straight line. It's a difficult climb, and you will get your hands dirty.

What It Means to Me: A New Motivation
The final stanzas are the most important part of the poem for me personally. They represent a fundamental shift in my own motivation. For a long time, the drive to be "better" was tied to an external goal: to be chosen, to be loved, to be seen as worthy. But the journey I've been on has been about finding a different, more powerful reason to keep climbing. The motivation is no longer "Not to be seen. Not to be praised." It's not about winning validation.

The motivation is solidarity with the silhouette, with my ideal self, with others.

"But so you won't be alone in that quiet place."

This is the promise. It's the realization that every act of integrity, every choice to be kind without strings, helps build a world where good people are less isolated. It's my hope that by continuing my own climb, I can one day stand at the peak and provide a silhouette of hope for someone else who is just starting their journey.

The poem ends with an admission: "I'm still learning." Because being a "good person" isn't a destination you arrive at. It's a conscious, difficult, and beautiful choice you have to make every single day. And I'm still learning how to choose it and to never give up.