I am the tower
I am home
I am family
I am security
I am where safety should be
I am where you can let your guard down
Two opposing forces cause a spark
Left in me because too many believe me to be
An eye sore,
The reason you clutch your purse tighter,
A reminder of the unattractive reality of poverty,
When you would much rather
Be left behind the veil of ignorance
Wealth gifts you.
So they give me a ten million pound paint job
To cover the cracks of financial inequality
Without actually dealing with the problem
– This becomes the fuel
To the fire left in me by the scornful eyes of the rich
By the powerful
Who measure worth by bank balances
They are the fuel to the fire that grows in me in the quiet, unsuspecting cover of night.
But, unfortunately, in this case
The fire is not a metaphor for love
The fire is not a metaphor for passion, for intensity, for purpose, for pleasure.
The fire is a fire
The fire is death
The fire is pain
The fire is destruction
The fire is neglect
The fire is the government, the biggest furnace of corruption
The fire is a life destroying entity
The fire is trauma
The fire is hate
The fire is what happens when we neglect social wounds; such as classism, racism and inequality
For so long
They begin to fester and persist.
For I am no more
No more am I the myriad of lives, loved ones, hopes and dreams that inhabited me.
I am now a derelict shadow
That will not be not be ignored, society.
Society is the ashes, in which the
Phoenix will rise.