Poetry Corner: Imperfect

Urban spaces I am confused, so dense and such a mess

The order so superficial, the faces so downcast

No time to breathe, no time to be, busy busy bees

Six inches in front of their face is all reality needs to be

Somehow this where it happens, to see and be seen

Perfect people living perfect lives perfectly groomed in perfect Pantone


I look a little closer, penetrate the dense face of lies,

The rent too high, they hate their flat, shared with a complete twat

They groom to go outside in fear their image is what buys their beer

Instagram their perfect meals, from the same cookery book each day

Nothing is real, their jobs are shit, even the pooch is a little git

Without Daddy most are out of luck, the rest moved away in a hired truck

They cannot escape this perfect bliss, no end in this hipster twist


Fed up of vegan, the coffee fair trade not mortgage free

Life of craft made devoid of graft, farmed out beyond middle class sensibility

Longing for fun to be the fashion, joy to be this season’s must see

Instead, they toil, looking great, feeling white powder block out their fate

Money so vulgar, follow passion, contribute, authentic and true

No heating in winter that mantra they lament, and the bosses they try to please

Looking like they do, smelling better, still using organic monk made shampoo


Creating nothing past façade and shimmer, substance got not even a glimmer

Stuck in the movement, destined for cliché, indeed, rather urban in their decay


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