My generation is proud.
My generation is brave to fight the wave,
We crash and we turn but still we carry on.
Slogans angry with defiance
Proud, red, hearts burn like lions.
We machete what you will follow
Through thick and thin we cry and wallow,
In a sadness of an endless song
But we will march on and on.
Don’t stop and stare, point or laugh
I merely glide in your path.
I couldn’t pick or chose where I was born, what postcode, town or stone
I pick up and throw in the Thames.
The waves bend our spirits
Tumbling into anonymous whispers,
Incoherent to your nudges or glances.
On the 484 to Camberwell Green.
A button in white capitals.
Stop time, my life is not yours.
We are so obsessed with progress we cannot Stop
Sink into your shoes
Close your eyes and listen to blues.
Indulge in your solitude
Your body is a temple
Curves engraved with stories
Let them drip into eternal cracks like maple.