A Desperate Plea To Dagenham Poem by Not Long Left

It is on these streets,
that I weep,
inside myself.
Selfish as it is, I do not belong here,
Like a parcel wrongly delivered.

Dagenham you rot within yourself,
your people pulling you down,
like cancer they find and destoy.
Streets littered with discarded dreams,
mingling with hell - inviting couloured cans.
As futures fall through unsteady hands.

Baby face girls with straightened curls,
push pale faced babies in fake designer prams.
There is no one to talk to in pubs,
Alien talk hovers above my head,
as I fade into my ciggarette shield.

Mean faced men sheared of all hair,
Sit with legs shaking under the chair,
Like a Volcano waiting to explode.
heated from within there ignorant minds.

What rots, and stagnants sucks me in,
slowly my speach has changed.
Twenty four years of careful flawed guidance,
Has placed me here, a house of violence.

Dagenham I am not one of your
whores so let me escape and move on,
I am sinking in your shit,
And I am forgetting where I am from.