When We Were Hackney

The saddest thing about gentrification is that it has the natives feeling as if they cannot grace their home roads unless dressed to the nines.

Heeled outsiders grace the pavements in past time sightseeing of this exhibition. Coiffed swing trousers stomp as if the crumbling structures had been theirs to love, once thriving, and now, barren.

Sweet additive pineapple cake, and oily pattie-man who’d approach smilin’ like he want you for lunch. Now he sit, legs stretched, pon the floor, a can for him. 

When we were Hackney.

Selfishness 

For as long as I’ve known, the utmost divisive insult that could be sprayed upon a man’s character, separating Us from them, the lowly, unabashed by vilified, depraved behaviour; that was the Selfish.

(According to a socialised god-fearing morally directed regal lion of righteousness!)

However life has forced a different view of selfishness upon me. I have turned to selfishness in my time of destitute, of need for survival, existence, not even to enjoy or Live. Selfishness has been an artificial cocoon of a mother’s love, man-made, to protect that, that had needed protection. Selfishness has been a missing love. The bias every child is owed from the womb that some have never tasted.

So watch those who shout from the top of the wrong doing in self love and preservation. 

For there is a robbing,
leaving an empty space, that’s requiring Selfishness.