Citys & Smog

London

London is a big city
It has millions of people
But I meant emotionally
It's a weight it distorts the memory around it, it distorts you, and you can never go back to what you once were

I've spent a quarter of my life there, and I have a lot more life left to live
God a quarter
That seems wrong
To big for my few memory's
To small for the affect it has on my life

The accent that even when dormant doesn't fit in with my friends whose family's have barely set foot outside our county,
The resting bitch face
The accent when im angry, or nostalgic, or tired, rising up and taking me home like a embrace of mangled words and cussing
The anger in my bones
The fact that no blackberries will taste as good as hackney marshes ones
The community
The solidarity
The keeping your head down cause it's called the murder mile for a reason
The lies
The smog
The river
How I learnt to be aware

How I used to be able to kiss my teeth
How I used to be able to say hello in Arabic
How my french was always in a Spanish accent
How my speech would be affected by the people around me, a sum of all the cultures

Now the accent only comes out when I'm slipping control
Words changed only slightly
I can't kiss my teeth
I can only mangle inshallah
My tongue is not my own
It has been sanded down, made palletable

If I went back I would be a stranger
A country bumpkin
No matter that I feel at home in the smog
No matter that I will never quite be comfortable in the countryside

I have spent to long (barely any time at all) in London to be not affected
I have spent to much time (feels like an eternity and nothing at once) away to be truly home there

I guess what they say it true you can't go back home
But also I can never truly leave