Every time I reach out,
My hands been burned.
Now here I am buried alive,
Never again, lesson learned.
The times I fooled myself,
That I could ‘have’ as you.
Smacked back to my station,
New bruises black and blue.
So how does it feel to be loved,
Can you tell me so I can know?
Please no more lies that they do,
Nothing I have ever seen grow.
I ask so much I suppose now,
Wanting to be treated like I exist.
Instead of being ignored and banished,
Yet the ones with will just insist.
That’s it’s out there somewhere,
My time is waiting yet to come,
Then why am I treated so inhuman,
Only used when I need to heal the war ‘you’ came from?
–Thomas Spychalski
Great poem Tom. More of this. Hope you get all that you deserve. Cheers
Cheers Obekpa, thanks a lot! 🙂