Pretty Young

 

In a room full of people pissed up and more

She caught his eye over the sticky, fag ash floor

She looked pretty; young in her face not her clothes

She swore blind to him she were eighteen years old

Had a date of birth memorised if he cared to delve

‘Cause she’d been out on the lash

Since the day she turned twelve

And just six months later she happened to meet him

She were led up the stairs with a spliff and a cheeky grin

“Her skill defied her age!” he ranted in court

But still every other week he were ordered to report

To sign their grubby register and surrender his passport

One day the social dropped him off

At our home from no home

He arrived just the same as the rest of us

A single bag and all fucking alone

When you ain’t got fuck all that’s yours, you see

You guard it with your life

But he went and left his room unlocked

When he went out one night

They tore it up looking for stuff

They could flog or swap for shit

But he didn’t have owt worth owt

‘Til they stumbled upon it

A pile a papers about that girl

They waited for his return

Then fucked him up proper bad

The staff could do nowt but watch

Us girls was crying and screaming “Stop!”

But it was like they never even heard

The coppers came and cleared out his room

And carted away the lads

But he never pressed no charges

‘Cause it weren’t the worst welcome he’d had

 

 

This poem is based on real life events that happened in a Manchester young person's homeless hostel in 2003.