Living in London

I live in London and

Did you know that I know some celebrities?

My mate’s mate knows that guy in that band

Lenny Henry once gave me a pound

The horror when he realised that he had to pay

To put his coat in the cloakroom

That was at the old vic theatre

And I answered quickly 'nothing's free. Not even education'

And he looked at me glumly.

Such is my claim to fame.

It's a shame I'm so parasitical

At least I'm political.

And so often feel moved to use this voice

because it’s all that I could be good for

it could be used for good for something

I complain sometimes that I’m so unheard

Shouted over by men – and it’s so absurd

That I often respond by shouting louder

And they reply ‘calm down love’!

Well I am not going to calm down love

Do not deny me my lived experience said Munroe Bergdof

As Piers Morgan splattered and scoffed

And it brought me back to days at the breakfast table

It was a house of women, a matriarchy

But of course we were propping up the patriarchy

at the receiving end of a man

whose every word was violence

Spluttering and scoffing into a weary silence

Whilst we hope one day he will just stop and listen

The never-ending Piers Morgan mouthpiece

Other voices like tumbleweed

That haven’t got a chance against the

Flapping and posturing:

Voice undulating, reaching a high pitch

Careful now – they’ll accuse you of being a bitch.

Can my voice be separated from a white, serrated

Intersectional hatred

That I am ashamed to be affiliated with?

But now I live in a room

that was inhabited by a patient

wandering around my local train station

I'm explaining to the local drug dealers

Chilling in our car park

That it's no longer an asylum

I'm not sure he buys it

He says 'lady it's cool we're just chilling'

And like him I've got a funny feeling

That the building still operates

As a state surveillance hospital

After three years I've got to drop it all

And go live with my mum.

That I can't just live freely

And that I can't cook in the kitchen

Because a mad man has taken over

Who calls me bitch and slut

They moved him next door but I've got to get away

And as I cry and shout about the abuse of women

And why won't they listen

I think Woman -

you know what the game is

It’s about money and we've all got to survive

And as you look into his red angry eyes

You see the utter despair

Of a working class man

Late 40s

Living in this shell

Because he's got to support himself as well

And you cry for the victims of Grenfell

And all those without a home

But at the same

Campaign for a man

Broken and alone

To get out of the asylum

That you've lived for time in

And you know the irony of the situation

As you look into his red eyes blazing

As he threatens and shouts

The only way he knows how

And eventually you bow out

To stay at your mum’s house.

And the compassion in the abstract

That we claim to have

Dissolves in the chaos

Of living in London

We are fighting and scratching

For every particle of land

For every pot and pan

We are not greedy

We're just sick

But we've got indoor toilets

This sickness is a state of mind

- it's not humanity

It's a sign of the times

But I hope I can use my voice for good

And if all that ego paled away

We would see something

Underneath the whitewashed

Phallic skyline

I’m so sick of it that it makes me cry

And I can’t share a bed with you right now

Until we deal with this huge big lie

But is it too much to want to feel safe?

Or is that a race too?

A race to feel the safest.

Please allow me to go at my own pace.

And please don’t shut me down

And I wont go shutting you down.

I’m sorry you suffer

But I cannot suffer too at the expense of you

They say silence is an ocean

We need to talk slowly.

Soon I’ll listen

And soon, I hope you’ll listen too.