Over-dressed

Wearing something cold for the winter

Summer couldn’t come too soon and the linen is smooth,

Cigarette stains on the shirts of the kids that were cool smell the fumes that they flick of the roof

They’re still burning….

I could throw hands at 15 but kept my confidence in pockets

My hammy downs mostly over-sized to grow in my boxers

The boxy hoodie, older girls followed me home with their lockets

“They kinda pretty” I would think

“Leave me alone” is what I’d say and they laughed

“Take the hat off babe, and why you running for school” they walked casual with exaggerated pace and look fly

I’m less graceful I ran for the gait

I wasn’t fashionable unless we’re talking fashionably late.

Back in 2013 when I was 12 on the banister

Watching Skeppy with the hat and so I wore a Ushanka

You know the Russian hat, would ask them pass the aux from the back of the car on longer journeys never had the thought to be a rapper but loved it…

Wearing something cold for the winter

Summer couldn’t come too soon and the linen is smooth,

Cigarette stains on the shirts of the kids that were cool smell the fumes that they flick of the roof

They’re still burning….

It’ll wash of with a bit of detergent.

Fabric softener I’m feeling amazing

Couple years since I was sitting complaining

Pull the plug on emotions I didn’t need because the feeling is draining

I still pass the cigarette butts they flick on the railing

Still keep it to myself in my notes, used to type

Now my notebook is filled with the lows and the heights

I kept it so conservative but I was so in the right

Poetic justice rhyming couplets slowly grow of sight, that’s it

Toil and trouble get that boy out his bubble

The fire burning in the field that turned his fortune to puzzle

A backdrop of people that got a less fortune hustle

The Dichotomy of London in my thoughts and my muscle

Real opportunities with visibility clouds

The snakes congregate around hear a hiss in the town

Moving trees to the queen while she’s killing the sound

I C sections of my city that will kill for the crown

The inner city Hustle and Bustle up on the train like a hiss I’m thinking bout how I’m gonna introduce this shit I adjust my collar

Breath into the space I’ve opened up, I’m onstage in front of and audience they’re watching me intently I start to stutter

Pull at the label scratching my side

And there’s this thing that keeps on catching my thigh

Wanting to dash, bored of sitting left with nothing on the passenger side

Aggravated I started rapping with drive.

And everything dissipated all the clothes I ain’t like

No confidence in my pockets, walking home in the night

Neared the end felt controlled and concise

The last line “Don’t mind me I was the rapper at the poetry night, Goodnight”.