Dear Birmingham by A-Squared

My footsteps will testify for me.

These cracks in the pavement probably witnessed subtle transitions in my disposition. Potholed smethwick slowly swallowing my sentiment for a birth place I promised to never let go of. Bi products of resentment; I failed to give a good send off. My footsteps will testify for me.

Her footsteps will testify for her.
Trust me I’m just as sceptical as you are.
Erasing boarders to be closer to you from a far.
I stumbled amongst Birmingham’s barriers. [social commentary/confusion]

See, the southern town that spat me out knew full well that it wasn’t a breeding ground [slight humor]
for my type of rad. [thoughtful]
I’m running from feelings like my south ward past.

And it hasnt taken that long to realise that these feelings didn’t last.

Now we live as two halves to a wholeless city.
Because coming from a soulless city, my gaze was too fixated on sunflowers to apprecaite that roses are just as pretty. I was fourteen and destined to surrender to the essence of dichotomy.
So, instead of asking where home was,
I finally decided to define it as two lungs which become submissive to the pace we breathe.

So we’ll breathe a little more fresh air where our parents have before us
and leave hot air balloons [uplifting/optimistic]

Unfulfilled for our future generations to bring the heat to. [smirk]

So look up higher and grasp more than a view of a city we refuse to believe is second best.
Youngest city in Europe
So library opening hours we’re ready to protest. [humor]

Both: Heated cement,
only cooling to solidify my temperament. Perry Barrs climate changed to meet ergenomically with my sentiment.
And when the going gets tough, AD: let me embrace that communities walk hand in hand even though their palms never touch. Raised fists fighting the power to co-exist.

Stand taller
and soak in
microcosms of minicultures segragated by past post codes.
I’ll take a stroll on the left side of these concrete walls
avoiding the bricks and mortar slapped by gunshot holes
waged in a riot of consumerist greed.
I want to see more than the stereotypes this neighborhood achieved [work hard]
and less of the stale suburbs fleeing diveristy.
See, more than old black men with their fill of liquor entering another coral,
Both: grief,
when they leave with less pennies and dignity.

Less coral grief more coral reefer. Different benz for a different day blinded by travelling in the same seven seater. I guess it isnt really a far cry from Emperor Gardens, Blackbird Leys
Both: did we really wave that city bye.
Reincarnation making me testify against my mind.
Both: They say a black bird leaves all that stuff behind.
But now it seems like we’re crossing wires and making city ties, connecting with hundreds in diamond dungeons beyond the corporate paradise. Where i fell in love with these chippy fries.

I wanna love Aston
like I do Digbeth,
where grafitti licks the

back expanse of warehouse walls

on corrie like cobbled corners. Proudly waving two fingers in the face of HS2.
I want to look and find hidden gems
not unused and overgrown lotts
or the newest wave of gentrification
or coral reefs on every corner drowning the black male fish
as they try to keep their head above water,
fishing for funds to buy food and time.

growing old and wise we realise that regardless of the borough street lights still flicker off at sunrise and we embrace that when we look up were still staring at the same sky, give us a place to thrive and acknowledge that bus shelters are more than a place to keep dry.
peaceful protests tarnished as riots,
police battons tearing shirts telling us to be quiet.
label a minority enough times and they’ll fulfill what you prophesied.
character types projected by car stereos,
Same stereos scared of intercultural communication

so as i travel to and from the same learning place, ive never wished my journey to be more or less mundane. these streets seem to capture the right amount madness so i cant complain and sometimes when you digest my happiness the weekend vomits wisdom into the roots of my pain. i guess thats why a driving force keeps telling me to experience and navigate (her footsteps)
why homeless men gather on broad st juxtaposed with the floors of fame (her footsteps) but even they arent exempt from gum chewed for much too long. (Her footsteps) a night on the town gone totally wrong. a buskers meoldy telling their story in song. (Her footsteps)
these are tales you show
but fail to tell
and you must have realised that we’re the kind to shout out loud.
I’m falling,
tripping on undercemented floor tiles, vomit stains and d-list stars
en route to school when bus engines just couldn’t be arsed.
they keep me grounded, feet yeilded by fame guiding tired and cracked necks in search of tall truths.
truths etched intricately into the 1920s renaissance residing above kebab shops,
pit stops,
clubs and supermarkets yelling BoGOF.
broaden your mind,
Cuz’ this city is alive

we are vanley burke’s vision
we are jasper carrot on a mission

we are painted walls that animate rebellion
we are two kinds of people.

we are Digbeth’s colour transcending race and time
we are the gangsters grit and the rappers rhyme

We are streets that are only made home through interaction.
We are lost souls being discriminatively sanctioned.

we are both peaky and blinder
we are both tinder and grinder

We are fossils which derive from the same type of rock.
We are clocks ticking controlled by the same type of cog.

we are a mothers new born pride
we are a sunny sunday’s canal ride

We are fragrant coffee beans waiting for the perfect latte.
We are vintage labelled jackets sitting in oasis market.

we are the smiles born out of awkward silences
we are strength in always defying london’s compliances

We are more than a ride over the river thames.
We are more than a picturesque postcard of Big Ben.

Signed, sealed, delivered