Steven (Steve) “Little Man” Lovitz
Adopted 2/2/23
In memory of Georgie Clooney Lovitz-Billow

He threw in the towel as he sharpened his sword.

Lonely is…

Lonely is the girl so sad she cries in her sleep. Lonely is the double, marble vanity. Lonely is the rotten leftovers. Lonely in her thoughts. Lonely in her pain. Lonely in her suffering. Alone, in grief. If no one is around to listen, does she make a sound?

RIP Georgie Clooney

You are my soulmate – my Guardian Angel. I hope to see you again, old friend. I love you, Baby Bear, my Main Man. You didn’t deserve this.

RIP Georgie Clooney, 1/4/23. I’m glad we got to spend your last night together. You were so happy to be home, snuggling with mama. You looked into my eyes so soulfully, just as you did when I brought you home when you were a baby. As if you were saying to me, “what took you so long?”.

Please, Judge Me.

Humans have a Prefrontal Cortex; a specific area of the brain involved in decision-making. It is also responsible for choosing whether or not to engage in risky behavior.

The human brain solidifies around the age of 25 (that’s why young people are more likely to engage in risky behavior). It is by being “judgmental” we may differentiate btwn right and wrong.

Make good decisions. Use your brain. Some things are irreversible. Think of the ramifications of your actions on others – both big and small.

Be judgmental.

I’m watching you.

© 2022 Risa Blair Lovitz

Utopia, JCCA

I ran on adrenaline and scorn, I fed off your inadequacy, I thrived in your ignorance, and I rejoice in your despair.

Con me not.
I will Conquer your Abysmal behavior.

Dark Brown Hair

Dark brown hair,
Dark brown eyes,
Milky skin,
I’m hypnotized.
I hug and kiss you.
Truth be told,
I really miss you.
Soft skin and lips,
Neatly-shaven –
My body wrapped in yours;
My safety haven.
Your lips so perfect,
With shoulders to match.
Your entire bone structure…
You are such a catch.
You promise one day,
When things settle down,
We will love elsewhere,
As we wish,
In a better town.

© 2022 RB

“The Ideal” by James Fenton, 1983

I read this on a NYC subway ad part of the “Poetry in Motion” campaign – which brought poetry to The City’s commuters. It has resonated with me ever since. I memorized it, without effort, after I first read it and remember it to this day:

This is where I came from.
I passed this way.
This should not be shameful
Or hard to say.

A self is a self.
It is not a screen.
A person should respect
What he has been.

This is my past
Which I shall not discard.
This is the ideal.
This is hard.


The rage in my heart makes my mind grow weary.
I think dangerous thoughts both vivid and scary.
I want you to suffer,
I want you to pay.
Hopefully you will one wonderful day.

© 2022 RB

Anti-Love Potion

I am what you made me –
Some say strong and some say crazy.

When I’m all alone with nothing to do,
I realize,
It’s not me,
It’s you.

The world has lost the bulk of it’s sparkle.

What seemed like love actually feels awful.

Now I isolate myself and my emotions,
Until I discover an anti-love potion.

© 2012 RB







Good person.


© 2019 RB

Life Leads

Life leads like love once lost;
Each path laden with traps for catching dreams of the future.

© 2013 RB








Good person.


Kind intentions.


© 2021 RB

My Story – Succinct

The very beginning I do not recall. I feel the remnants of the memories of not being alone. I am a twin. He was taken away when we were seven. We have an older brother. He is the only one that remained with our mother. I love both of my brothers more than they know and I am so proud of them and what they’ve accomplished. We were poor. We are all disabled. I had an imaginary family with an imaginary home. I remember it still to this day. I would stay up at night, under my blanket, and daydream about my secret life – imagining eating turkey dinners. I could taste it as my stomach rumbled – keeping me from falling asleep. My abusive father was gone by the time I was nine. He did not always pay child support. We did not always have electricity and we seldom had enough to eat. He did take us out, though, later on. My mother and I did not get along. We did when I was a toddler – I vaguely remember some bonding moments. I was never given a set of keys to my home and she kicked me out regularly. I moved in with my father when I was 11 – until I entered a group home at 14 after spending time in shelters and on the street, hiding for my own safety. I was a high-achieving, talented child with many accolades and awards. From where the motivation came, I can not say; possibly to feel a sense of control over my life, to aim for better things, the thought that one day I may learn what happiness feels like. The early years that I do remember were terrifying, violent, unstable, lonely. Middle childhood up until early adulthood seemed like an endless stream of suicidal ideations and assaults; verbal, physical, sexual. I almost died when I was twenty. I moved to another state. Despite everything, I had attended the single top high school in the country, skipped a grade, and earned a MS Ed. in Psychology. It gave me insight. It made me feel hopeless. Although I found love in high school with someone amazing, I sabotaged it and I have been paying karmically ever since. People are programmed to be self-serving; self-persevering. I learned what depressive realism is. My 20s consisted of a string of toxic relationships. Got into a bad car accident. Forever disabled. I spent my 30s in complete solitude. I wanted a family. I wanted love. I could have – should have – died.

For what did I survive?

This is my story. Succinct.

© 2020 RB


I will not be bullied or silent anymore. I will defend what is right even if it is often a losing battle. Ignorant people are everywhere. Some of us need to be teachers and we all have listening and learning to do. I will not be the last pillar to fall before this structure collapses entirely.

© 2020 RB

This is Where I Drown

The last two years I have been trying to outrun a tsunami. It has caught a second wind, but my legs are broken. Time to lay down. No sense in holding my final breath.

© 2020 RB

An Unrealistic Expectation

I live in a world that I do not understand. I feel disconnected – like a missing link – not quite human but some type of intelligent, unknown hominid deserving of personhood. Evolved in some ways – yet, some kind of mutant. The first, the last, the only one of my kind. Not quite a person but still a primate that requires love and friendship; a sensitive, misunderstood, sentient being with a wide range of emotions who is terrible at making small talk, cannot physically tolerate loud noises and pungent odors, and occasionally writes run-on sentences.

Inconsequential things do not interest me. Ask me a simple question and I will respond as thoroughly – and often unnecessarily and sometimes contextually inappropriately – as I can. I will tell you everything I know about the subject. I like to understand the way things work. I read a lot. I do not notice – nor do I understand – why people do not like this behavior. Unecessary time consumption? Why ask if you are not interested? I just say, “tell me more”. I am invested. I am learning something.

I like picking up new skills: changing a tire, fixing a garbage disposal, plant grafting, going to a boxing class. I want to know everything. However, I am limited. My mental and physical capacity is insufficient – so is yours – so is everyone’s; the tools and resources do not exist – they have not yet been invented.

Shakespeare was right: we are all just actors on a stage. I am a performer with no theatre or audience, standing in the spotlight, nervously looking at a world full of nothing but empty chairs. My performance is irrelevant – no one is present to see or hear. There are no eyes or ears. I am invisible. I am alone. Still, I feel the pressure to be liked and accepted. An impossible feat. An unrealistic expectation.

© 2020 RB

Lie, Cheat, Repeat.


The cycle of deceit.


A mastermind’s feat.


Stay out of the kitchen if you can’t handle the heat.


This is not your game if you can’t manage defeat.

© 2019 RB

Corn Maze

I feel like I’m in a corn maze and I’m never getting out.

All I can do is look at the ground or look at the sky.

© 2019 RB


I am my own prisoner,
A flighting soul trapped in a surrendered mind,
A victim of my life’s own living.

© 1996 RB

The Sincerely, True You

You laugh at others and their imperfections –
While blindly staring at your own reflection.
You’re liked by others,
A fact so true.
But nobody knows the sincerely,
True you.

© 2011 RB

Stoned and Plastered

Had a date on NYE,
A horrible disaster.
I drank, I ate, I spoke, I sighed,
Turned out that he was plaster.
Food was fresh –
Veggies displayed on a nice platter.
Suddenly I realized,
He was me and I was him…
But the latter.

© 2021 RB

Damn My Fears

Damn my fears of falling down with people staring as I frown.

In pain I feel I’m all alone,
The only place that’s safe is home.

I try not to think of the way that I’m feeling.

I use humor,
As laughter assists with the healing.

© 2012 RB

Just Being Me

Just being me,
Is the only way I know how to be,
If only others could see.

It is much to my demise,
Never a great surprise.

I still wonder why.

In a past life I cried,
The well has run dry.

© 2020 RB

Lonely, Empty Museum Wings

I know you’re out there and I do hope we meet,
Or meet again.

We can love eachother and not be alone anymore.

Empty Museums Wings.

Do you look to the moon the same time as I?
Do you like to watch the ball drop on NYE?
Do you still believe in romance?

There are parts of me I never knew were taken,
Until I realized they may never return.

How much are these pieces worth,
Parts of me,
If you had to assign a monetary value?

Should I be sold for scraps?
Am I totaled?
Will this ride survive?

Mobility is key.

© 2020 RB

Excerpt: An Unrealistic Expectation

Shakespeare was right – we are all just actors on a stage. I am a performer in a vacant theatre with no audience, standing in the spotlight, nervously looking at a world full of nothing but empty chairs. My presentation is irrelevant – no one is in attendance to see or hear. There are no eyes or ears. I am invisible. I am alone. Still, I feel the pressure to be liked and accepted. An impossible feat. An unrealistic expectation.

© 2020, 2021 RB


You treat me like a criminal.
Deserving of solitary confinement,
Not fit for society.
Serving a life sentence.
Death is my only way out,
To be burried without a service,
In an unmarked grave.

© 2020 RB

A Harsh Reality

You don’t determine your value in this world – other people do. It doesn’t matter if one loves themself, but if they are by others. A harsh reality.

© 2020 RB

A Hero

Is a hero still a hero if they have long rested their head?
Is a hero still a hero when that hero is dead?

© 2020 RB


Snowflakes falling down on us are there to let us know,
That all the world and all its cares combined create the snow.
So when you think of winter,
think of those you love.
And with each thought you have in mind,
a snowflake forms above.

© 2001 RB

A Woman’s Voice

It isn’t that easy.
You don’t understand.
One day you’ll realize:
You’re lucky to be a man.
Things may come easy –
For you,
Not for me.
I’m lonely and terrified.
You just don’t see.

© 2020 RB


For this season’s premiere,
You were not there,
You were six feet underground.

I imagined you in your chair,
With disheveled hair,
I forgot that you were gone.

You purchased burial plots,
For all of your kids,
Everyone but me.

Now you are dead,
And I am in bed,
Watching our favorite TV.

© 2019 RB

The Heart Cannot See

With much to consume and little to do,
I’ve flattered and faltered to benefit you.
This preposterous infatuation has lead me to believe,
When it is the eyes that are watching,
The heart cannot see.

© 2001 RB

Painful Queue

You see the truth,
Just look away,
Pain better suited for another day. 
That time never comes and it all piles on,
One day it is gone. 

© 2019 RB

5:59 AM

A cellophane wrapper,
Not recycled.
A new baby’s hamper,
A tearful dollop,
Salty and wasteful.

© 2019 RB

October 30th, 2018

The end is near and that’s okay,
I don’t want to see another day.
The birds will still sing and people will dance.
As if I never happened,
I never stood a chance.

© 2018 RB

As She Molded Back Into the Tub of Wax

As she molded back into the tub of wax,
The medley that she came from,
She often thought it to be hard to maintain the shape she desired:

A little bird of yellow feathers with polka-dots of red,
Who sang a dark,
Blue song the whole night long and this is what she said:

Although I’d rather be a yellow bird than anything that’s grander,
I often find it all too hard to eat when life is bitter.

It’s easier this way you see,
To blend with all the others,
As broken wings and solemn things die slowly in the winter.

© 2001 RB

I Don’t Want to be Your Rag Doll Anymore

I don’t want to be your rag doll anymore. My threads have worn thin and I barely recognize myself. Once an item of adoration, no one wants to play with me anymore. I’m tired of sitting in your junk drawer with my eyes drawn open. Reluctantly smiling hurts my tired, drunk jaw. It will take some crafty stitching to keep this baby doll from falling apart.

© 2007 RB