2nd generation FOB (Fresh of the Boat )

I am an explanation
A loner dancing on a bridge expelled between two cities
Cast out for not belonging,
Not being
complete
Enough
I am a diamond in the rough that has been stolen
Made into something I’m not
Shipped off to somewhere
I forgot to be different
I got comfortable
I lost my senses
But then I’m reminded
And the rose tinted lenses
Blur till I’m wearing blacked out shades
Which only distinguish between two shades
White
And the rest
And I am among the restless, most tested
Undefended
Continuously defeated
Because I forgot
The struggles
The countdown
Monday at £180
Tuesday minus £90 for childcare
Wednesday minus £50 for the solicitor
Our saviour
Who will get us the little booklet
That will be our pass into the portal
Of Living
Because too long we have just been surviving
So there’s £40 left on Thursday
And its another week of choices
Every day we make choices
Gas or Electricity
And we don’t have bloated bellies
So we get no publicity
So I guess this week its bread
Next week butter
I’m Hungry
and tired ,
Of seeking solace in the ever empty fridge
So tired
of looking into my mothers teary eyes
As Her heels threaten to explode out of her shoes
The same shoes she wore on my 5th birthday
And on my 7th
But she keeps walking
Battling Harsh winds
That crack lips
I’m so tired
Of gazing into my father’s weary back ,
As he sets out for another soulless day
His masters is only enough to master a broom
Because without that little booklet nothing is compatible
When you step on the plane you leave everything to be here
Like a bird shedding its feathers before it can migrate to the south
A salmon moulting out of its scales before it swims upstream
My heart is heavy
Because I don’t know how long until their empty
This country gutting their shells
Until hell becomes an aspiration

Ambition is wasteful
Because your dreams can only fly as high
as the highrise flats
where you cradle your babies and pray
they don’t fall into this
mismatched
lack of history
where two unwanted cultures battle for sovereign
for a label that can only ever be
‘Not white’
‘Afro-Caribbean’
‘Ethnic Minority’
Where you get pity
Or you get angry
But either way someone gets hurt
And if its not me
Its the little girl , that sits in front of TV asking
why there isn’t anyone who looks like me
Why In Eastenders there is only 1 black family
Its the little children that will never dream of being
Prime Minister
Because we have no Obama
We have Dizzee Rascal
We have ‘Urban’ music
Just Black enough to be cool
But not black enough to be threatening
Cocooned in this accent
I guess I forgot
But I’m not the only one
Our black sons killing other Black sons
Traditional drums traded for guns
So I write to make a difference
Then pen is mightier than the sword
But my bredrin wasn’t beheaded by a biro
We’ve forgotten
The blood soaked, tear soaked
Seeds of immigrants
Pollinate and germinate
And they become tall strapping cannabis plants
Polluting the air of our children
Another baby chokes
As the rizla is skilfully strokes
And their father’s dreams light up in smoke
As they take tokes on their mothers sacrifice
This is ‘urban’, this is threatening
This is British ,
This is Us
And I forgot
Because I’m too British to be African
I’m far too African to be British
So I’m stuck
A loner dancing on a bridge between two cities
Expelled for being
For never being
Enough