I'm not woke, so I am told.
Lectured to about oppression by a man in shoes that cost a week of my salary.
So here is some of what I'm not.

I'm not gay or trans or identified as something I'm not, but you can if you like I don't care at all.

I'm not totally white I'm a mix or a blend I don't see my own colour and to you that offends?

I'm not pro life nor death what a woman does is up to her.
If you dispute that do you think she cares?

I'm not into gods but you can have yours. Worship sing and chant if you like but please keep that to yourself.

So if you ain't happy you can burn your bra or block the road if you think it will furher your cause.
I've seen all that it's nothing new.
It's how it's done that defines you.

Meet on mass and air your views. But never presume or assume as it makes you a fool.  
If I'm not one of you you say I'm one of them!
There you go assuming again.

Who I am is for me alone and I object to being pigeon holed.
So while you shout privileged and fed from a spoon I remember having holes in my shoes when I was at school.
Paper inside to keep out the cold till mum could afford to get some more.

I was a boy and had three sisters. So hand me downs didn't fit me.
My first bike had three previous owners who did more mileage than Lance Armstrong.

When I went to college and met new people.
It wasn't our differences that made us friends and we listend to punk and rock as well.

So who told us we all had to be offended when we came so far from all the hatred.
Those younger than me who now riot have never asked me why I am quiet.
I'm quiet because you're killing me.
Tearing apart society in the name of justice and equality.
The narrative of segregation is once again on the table and this time it's violence you use to enable.
If you hurt then fight to heal.
But don't be a fool and hurt others too.
Change the system not whats been.
Do it with peace like we did.

I remember strikes and three day weeks.
No sugar or butter and beans on toast, yet you post pictures of your Sunday roast telling me I simply don't know what it's like to be you.

Let me explain what I see of you.

You protest on media and scream for a cause.
Done from an iPad from China do you know where human rights are very poor?
My phone is made in South Korea.
More ethical I think you'll agree.

You keep telling us oldies were
part of the problem.
We don't understand.
We can't see your view.


Says someone in £500 shoes.
Who is privileged?
I am asking you.


I remember walking to school with holes in my shoes.

I've lost more than I ever knew I had.
Given more than I will ever receive.
Embraced fear knowing it held absolution.
I have been the pillar in others lives as they crushed me as foundations.
I have been the only light keeping others bright and I have fallen further into darkness without them seeing.
I will never be wealthy if you measure wealth by assets.
Have I loved?
Oh how I have loved.
Foolishly, recklessly, blindly, lost, found and forgotten.
But have I been true to myself?
Can any if us say we have?
Totally, always,
I doubt it.
But I have tried.

Is there a cultural or historic version of Genocide?
Where you eradicate all nods to a past culture.
Erase any trace of it?
Does that not mirror the wrongdoings of the oppressors. Using the same ideology of a scorched earth policy.
If we wipe out all traces of a past discression who will remind us of it's danger.
Is it civilised to destroy one section of history?
You can't change it. You can learn from it and create a better future.
But destroying the past will never change it.
Only risk its repetition.
Why not leave them and put signs under them.
Explain who they were.
What they did.
Their terrible legacy.
Make them a monument to the shame of past ideology.
This won't sit with many peoples current narrative.
Auschwitz wasn't demolished for a reason and people still deny it was ever real.
Erase monuments to slavery and you risk the same fate.
Think clearly.
Not with anger.
Anger is a natural response but won't make this better.
Make a statement that lasts.
Not a fire or rubble that's forgotten.

I have friends who sing, friends who dance.
Some are gay and some are not.
Some share opinions, others won't.
Some made mistakes and others  they don't.
Some aren't white some are aren't.
Some are political, some are not.
Some like cats others dogs.
Some are spiritual, some not.
Some are tactile and others arms length.
Some share every detail when they vent.
Some say little but are always there.
Some get offended and others don't care.
Some scream foul, others referee!
But I love there differences, how do they see me?

I remember our first meeting.
She wore a seatbelt in a hackney. She said some things could never be spoken of, and proceeded to discuss them at length.
I never knew was it to entice me?
Or shock the driver.
I'm guessing a little of both as he seemed deflated when we reached our destination.
She talked of her ventures on the internet.
She called it ebay for people.
It's more like "click and collect" for Argos.
Buying unseen and hopeful it's not broken or not what you wanted when you got it home.
Moments later she passed out.
I carried her upstairs and put her to bed. Covered her as she talked in her sleep.
I'm guessing he wasn't from Argos.
But he was indeed broken.
I placed a glass of water next to her bed.
Closed the door.
Walked home.
We never spoke again.
And sometimes later becomes never

In dreams he's lived from the day, she died.
He never wanted to feel again. He didn't have the capacity.
I'll defined future.
Nothing inside now.
She lit up a room.
Like an arsonist!
She could get excited opening a tin of beans.
Now he craves beans on toast and finding half of it is liquid.
She could never be a woman that only ate lettuce.
And now all he sees is salad in people

Wrapped in cellophane I felt today as
I washed the sheets a month on her scent now gone.