and although I hate it

and although I hate it, 
 
when will we start living again? 
 
just so I can have a feud with the bin men. 
 
so, I can climb on a stinking bus again, 
 
have the glares off tutting wed up and well looked after mothers,
 
times where the pram keeps falling from carrying too much fruit and veg and use plastic rain covers,
watch the love rats run from lover to lover.
 
when will we start living again?
 
when will I go inside a cafe and not buy anything, 
 
sit there just wait and see if anyone might care, 
 
or hang about in the park push the kids on a swing,
 
when will I be walking down the high street, 
 
watching my reflection in the high end gear 
 
even if I could afford, wouldn’t fit me, 
 
“you can’t fit breast feedin’ tits in there”, 
 
or the shopping mall where your feet squeak along the floor, 
 
when will I live again, 
 
when will the kids see a ball pool, and get e numbers off fizzy drinks and sweets and birthday parties you didn’t really want to be apart of, 
 
live in leafy greens and 
 
walk past the wine and dine and dressed up fine, 
 
a mirror of people I will never become, any time soon. 
 
the snobs the yobs and chasing cops, the motor wheel of the city, when will it begin again? when will we live again?
 
when will we look at all the inequality pretend that it is not our priority,
 
the sleepless homeless outside subway. 
 
the people with pots of cash that look the other way,
 
when will we live again?

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