Generic, grimy grey,
crawling across the sanctuary,
of people who are doing the best they can,
with what they can.
struggling up stairs for centuries,
passing kids who peer through balcony bars,
kids who never quite clicked,
that they didn’t get the same start.
There is a nervous energy in the walls,
floor to roof,
violent negligence chasing screams
up the cladding,
and I remember the maisonette of my youth,
maturing with my mother,
not quite clicking,
that most homes don’t have holes in the walls,
for me to hide my hopes and dreams.
Now I am tall,
putting my hopes and dreams into the air,
no longer hidden in holes in the wall,
I am nervous when I see tower blocks,
because they contain lives,
as precious as those outside,
but the country never quite clicks,
that they aren’t built to protect them.