the knotweed crawls
through the dry dirt  
grass flowers cry
out-competed and hurt

dandelions, flowers
long gone and rejected
standing solemnly, loosing
themselves, dejected

council flat stays
dark and unclean
communal entrance
stays untouched and unseen

rusted gates encompass
the derelict sheds
minorities too deflated
lying still in their beds

while the drugs keep
moving and polluting
gangs keep the conflict
shooting and looting

and the apartment block
round the back imitates
turf war leaves civilians
dying at ungodly rates

in the country of prospect
wealth and dreams
yet my jumper's 5 years
old and frayed at the seams

parents came from the
homeland with the rose
glasses, now working two jobs,
watching picket fence rows

they don't remember us
horses too high to see below
yet given much permission
and don't let their failures show

just remember:
I'm still here.
whether you like it
or not

a/n: felt like writing bout this