Treat Me Like Human

October 18, 2017

Why can’t this world ever treat me Human?

Why won’t they give me what they give fools?

Or is the biggest fool a’comin,

and is he me?

 

No sense of direction because I am cut off from all,

No right, no wrong in this sense of endless fall.

Only want to be wanted and loved,

Messages from above tell em I am something special,

then why am I treated so unlike lesser men?

 

Why can’t this world treat me Human, why can’t I have what you take so easily?

 

I am Human, I feel, I am real, how do I keep becoming the son denied?

-Thomas Spychalski

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Safety

October 11, 2017

Used to think locking up was as good as safety,

Now I’ll stop, not get so hasty,

Bending to be, condemning the voice to free. 

Just want to touch that old safety, it’s why I’m home free,

Just want to reach that point where the emotions you feel just bounce off, no longer stick to me. 

-Thomas Spychalski 


Entitled Record

October 9, 2017

I heard a record today from another life, one which seems so far away.

Sounds of unity, the outsider with impunity, so removed from today.

Older is only wiser because time brings change and open wounds.

Salt or suture, for the future, rotten roots or arisen fresh blooms.

 

Winding years move right along, how come I feel left behind?

The clock that ticks, thorns prick, rock solid broken mind.

Where was the fated turn, led me to be this god damn lost?

What direction, dark introspection, now I add up the costs.

 

Raging river of could, but I never would,

Awake in the pen, just tell me when?

I get to record entitled records like those sweet oldies again?

Thomas Spychalski 


Beyond Superficial

October 8, 2017

Really quick and rough fiction from today’s daily word prompt ‘Superficial.’

 

Jonathan Barnes was only twenty-three years old but he knew better, no matter what everyone told him when he brought up the subject of Catherine Belle. Catherine was a beautiful woman, the kind of person everyone knew had the upper hand due to what others might term as ‘genetic luck’ but Jonathan knew better than that.

His friends would poke fun at him when his feelings and thoughts about Catherine leaked out into the open, because of affection, the one emotion no one really should repress if it is of the healthy and objective variety, has a way of escaping it’s confinement to be blurted out across nervous speeches and bold gestures. They would make fun of him for loving what to the more lustful than loving was nothing more than a trophy, a conquest; a place they could plant a flag and claim superiority of their peers based on instincts belonging to a less gentle and knowledgeable age.

Jonathan, however, could notice the little things other seemed to just let pass them by. A beauty that is appreciated by many is either the result of a gorgeous lie or a plainly visible truth and in the case of Catherine Belle, the case could definitely be made for truth over lie being the cause of her popularity. No one hated Catherine the way they might others with her appearance and poise, but it was because there was no trickery going on.

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Wise Thought of the Day #9

October 5, 2017

#9…#9…#9…#9…
(Could not resist joke you may or may not get)

 

“Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible

To feeling as to sight?

Or art thou but a dagger of the mind, a false creation

Proceeding from the heat-oppressèd brain?”

Shakespeare, ‘Macbeth.’ 


Cold Comfort

October 5, 2017

Now here we stand awake, somehow the pain has turned down,

Yet here I am scared, patience, can’t let this ever again be unbound.

Brushing off cold flakes born in Winter’s numbing embrace,

looking for grey between the bright, the dark and the interface.

 

Never wait to go back, it was known there but it was cold,

Never want to stack again, those thoughts in my head,

Lies that were getting old.

Never want to feel the sleep of cold comfort exposure,

Help me say this is it, go on, this Winter is over.

 

Now while universal doubt will have short-term possible reign,

and fear will be measured, reach deeper in the well, take the strain.

There will be more I know, as mountains shrink to rolling hills,

and producing melting ice, like my heart, just a matter of wills.

 

Never wait to go back, it was known there but it was cold,

Never want to stack again, those thoughts in my head,

Lies that were getting old.

Never want to feel the sleep of cold comfort exposure,

Help me say this is it, go on, this Winter is over.

Thomas Spychalski 

 

 


The Right Time That Never Comes Right.

October 4, 2017

I guess I was waiting for the right moment, perfect constellations, planets align.

However, in waiting I became slightly obsessed, counting coop, no victory, myself I left behind.

 
Waiting always for the right time,

When I guess the right time doesn’t exist right?

Always searching the grounds for a perfect rhyme,

Which translates out to me making a fist at the world.

 
Think I was hoping to find the perfect day, cloudless and uninterrupted, the kind you remember.

Instead, I’d wait through melting ice, growing spring, but nothing moderated that unseeing temper.

 
Waiting forever for the right time,

When I guess the right time is now right?

Perhaps off the banks of the rivers of my crimes,

Between the then and now we can have sight…if only we choose to see and not blind.

Thomas Spychalski 


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