Where I am from

Where I am from

I’m from a place that looked like the village of the damned.
Destitution, prostitution and violence ruled the land.
A social engineered project.
Designed to keep you down.
Living in purgatory, full of clowns.

Drinking in a boozer with thugs on drugs.
Championed as heroes because they could throw a hard punch.
Some crazy fat fuck, who would have your nuts off.
If they did not like your look.

Burglaries and robberies an every day event.
Desensitized to violence by the age of eight.
Shop lifting a sport so you did not miss out.

Role models in short supply.
There would be no easy way out.
Education frowned upon.
Your role would be a class clown.
Such a stressful lifestyle.
Surviving was the key.
Never looking forward.
Always looking down.
I’m sure this was repeated in most U.K. town’s.

Yet we allow this to go down.
Past down to every generation.
As this is a normal way of life.
To survive in all this poverty and strife.
These forgotten neighbourhoods.
It seems to be part of the government’s plans.
Because uneducated and oppressed people will never make a stand.

This has always been the way we are ruled.
By our masters from up above.
They focus our attention in looking at immigration.
Race and religion.
On how these people are so different than us.
So we can invest our anger and frustrations on a sitting duck.
But we have more in common with these so called enemies than our illegitimate leaders.
Who view us from high above.

Can we break the deadlock of our strife and pain?
Or are we to brainwashed?

We hold our own destiny, we could make the change.
If we hold our leaders accountable.
But we suffer as they gain.

Part of the problem.
Is that all politicians seem the same.
They all use smoke and mirrors.
All the propaganda is the same.
Are outlooks are completely different.
But the outcome is the same.

The weak must suffer all the pain.
Dehumanizing propaganda.
Wanting them to die of shame.

We have to rise above this.
Climb out of the estates.
Make our leaders accountable.
Let them feel the pain.
This might just be a pipe dream.
But we need to try all the same.

They should have to live in the conditions that I am from.
Let them feel the shame.
Let them feel the hunger.
Let them feel the pain.

Then no one would have to go through.
The hell of where I am from.

You said so much

This poem is about the government system. These people will smile and shake your hand as they lie to you. I have no faith in the system as they lie, cheat, steal and spread hate. As people become more disillusioned with the system, change has to occur. Not a change of political party but a change of the whole system is needed. Are we strong enough to go into the unknown, I do not know?

 

You have said a hell of allot of things.
You said you stuck to your promises.
You said you cared.
You said you would always look out for us.
You said you would always protect us.
You said you would never judge us.
You said you would not lie to us.
You said you would not look down at us.
You said you would always be there for us.
You said we are your world.
You said we would be equal.
You said if we worked hard we would be ok.
You said if we put our faith in you, you would always be down.
You said if we died for you, are families would be in good hands.
You said if we fell ill you would help us out.
You said you swore you would never be underhand.
You said this was our land.
You said this was our home.
You said we would always stand hand in hand.
You said you would respect us.
You said you would never sell us out.
You said you would represent us.
You said you would be our voices, that we would always be heard.
You said you would always be fair.
You said that you would not let us down.
You said you are the same of us.
You said we would always engage us.
You said we did not have to fear you.
You said we would ALL be ok.

It breaks my heart, it hurts so much.
You no longer feel the same.
We do not know if you ever did?
Is it all just a game to you?
We play our part but you feel no shame.
You no longer understand us, you never really knew us.
You deal death, unjust punishment and cause us so much pain.
Your have no empathy never mind sympathy.
Your lies are killing us.
You keep pushing.
We are not you, but we will have to push back.
Why does it have to go this way?
You said you are us.
You told so many lies to us.
Your web is so tangled you do not know where it begins.
But this has to be were we end.
We can no longer respect you, believe you.
You make us despise you.

So all I can say is that we see through what you say to us.
It is such a shame.

It should have never gone this way.

Home grown terrorist

Definition of terrorist in English:  (oxford English dictionary)

NOUN;

A person who uses terrorism in the pursuit of political aims:

Who are the real terrorists?

Home grown terrorists sitting in parliament.

Laughing at the weak.

In surging through local constituencies.

They know that people are starting to awake.

That everything we are told is bullshit.

They will soon want to restrict the information we can see.

They cannot let people have information that they have not approved.

People educating themselves.

Clawing their way out of the state sponsored, so called schools.

They are restricting peoples movement.

Pricing them off the road, out of the trains.

Zero contract hours so they are grateful to be employed.

Benefits on your wage in order to meet ends meet.

Next move more austerity measures.

Remove the safety net.

Reinforcing the economic prison.

People being terrorised in all different ways.

By political terrorists, making bad decisions on bad ideas.

Purposely installing fear.

Fear about work.

Fear about not having work.

Fear about anything no matter how absurd.

Awarding titles to their friends.

Even if they are criminals, paedophiles or just plain cowards.

Terrorizing the very people they are paid to serve.

A system is in place, which is so absurd.

Benefiting only the terrorists who we pay in turn.

Evil little cowards growing on our turf.

Two wrongs do not make a right.

So how many wrongs does it take to make it right?

Do you have to become a home grown terrorist?

The omen’s curse

Damien learnt from his dad when he was young.

Money equals power, it stands above everyone.

Do what you need to do.

Never leave anyone alive to tell a tale.

Stick by these rules, you will not fail.

Dad had to go though, dead in a bloody violent end.

Damien saw it all.

Cremation, ashes to ashes blown away in the wind.

Mum struggling in an unforgiving environment.

Evil waiting to devour the weak.

Any weakness shown was quickly exploited.

Mum could just not say no to the drugs.

Damien saw how this was exploited.

His path was dark, no light and no love.

No friends, no childhood.

He was told it was just tough luck.

His only comfort was the retreat in his mind.

Here anything was possible.

Here he could survive.

He watched and observed a distorted way of life.

If people fear you they are showing true love.

Was his corrupted thought.

Money was love and anything else it bought.

He met his only friend, that was a voice in his head.

Always showing him a way to get respect.

He could fight anyone,.

Fight anyone until they were dead.

By time he was a teenager his mum was gone.

Chasing a dragon that bit back saw her end.

Now there was only him and his friend.

He had to protect himself.

No weaknesses, no empathy, no love.

No one was going to stop him.

From becoming what he was destined to become.

His friend would guide him and said Damien would be his son.

All he had to do, is what had to be done.

It had to be his choice, this life.

Rags to riches, do anything to survive.

Gratuitous violence would lead him to fame.

Money, notoriety and a celebrity street fame.

Anything he touched money would come his way.

Nothing was beyond him.

Nothing could stand in his way.

Murder was just the beginning.

Never looking back, no emotion, never guessing.

Continually creating a dark path.

His friend told him you are truly your father’s son.

My work here is done.

It is time for me to move on.

So Damien is on his own, with no understanding of what is going on.

Behind him on the dark path that he lay.

Demons lay in wait.

Waiting for a mistake.

Whilst on one of his jobs.

Doing people wrong.

His eyes crossed path with the eyes of a boy.

This boy kneeling on the floor.

His dying dad’s hand in his.

Damien had just slaid another victim in his way.

But this time he saw a reflection in the boys eyes.

Looking back at him.

He could not believe his eyes.

His friend who had lied, plotted behind his back all this time.

He saw the devil in that boys eyes.

Scenario just like when his dad died.

Cold rippled through his skin.

He realized he had let the devil in.

Bang was the sound.

Burning pain as he fell to his knees.

His life flashed before him.

All the pain and misery was his history.

Light started to dim.

This young kid started to grin.

Too late to realise.

His soul was no longer his.

The story must begin again.