Poems From a Runaway - The girl from Nuneaton

(An embarrassing one)

The girl from Nuneaton

Ill make my way through West end, to where Ill rest my head,
To the bookshop on Piccadilly, thats now a camping shop instead.
A man and woman are there sleeping, and Ive seen that bloke before,
But theres plenty of room in this big space , Ill go the other side of the door.

Id seen him earlier at Leicester square, with this girl around four hours ago,
Id not seen her around here ever before, shes new and its easy to know.
Couldnt tell she was homeless that time I saw her, shes clean and her clothes are well kept,
So I was surprised that I saw her again, down on the floor there she slept.

As I go to put all my cardboard down, and lay it out over the ground,
I try to do it quietly, not to wake them with the sound.
But then she sits up in her sleeping bag and says hi how are you?
And I could tell straight from her accent, she was from the midlands too.

She dont seem the type at all, to be hanging with that bloke,
Hes hardcore on the heroin, always looking for a smoke.
Shes new round here dont know these streets, its obvious to see,
Then she asks if its OK, to sleep right next to me.

So I say Hey why not to the girl, theres plenty more space over here,
I think that shes got too much life in her, to end up on the gear.
She told me was nineteen, and been here a day or two,
Had ran off from Nuneaton town and didnt know what to do.

I told her I was eighteen, just like I did to all,
In case someone would grass me up, and give the police a call.
She said she had some money to get a hotel for the night,
 Why dont you come with me? she said, so I replied   alright.

We waited till the morning came and took a walk about,
She had to go inside her bank, to get her money out.
We looked inside a phone directory, for somewhere to stay,
And found a B&B near Gloucester Road, we got to later on that day.

We checked in then we relaxed, we chilled out on the bed.
She pulled my trousers off of me, T-shirt over my head.
And then all of a sudden, I heard her do some sort of scream,
Oh my god youre filthy, you need to have a clean!

She said please now get into the shower; look your boxer-shorts are black.
And make sure that you have a good wash, before you come back.
 The shower was outside of the room, so I then soon made my way,
Looked at my face in the mirror, and noticed all my neck was grey.

So I washed and I washed for a good fifteen minutes, and tried my best to get clean,
I guess that this moment was new learning curve, that will one day help my own self-esteem.
I then threw my boxers into the sink, used the soap in there and let them soak,
And then made my way back to the hotel room, Ill make up a rolley to smoke.

So I walked into the room and soon then I knew, that this girl was no longer there,
The window was left open all of the way, and shed emptied all her handbag bare.
I waited around for a few minutes, but I knew that she werent to return,
A positive dent is now inside my pride, and in a small way I will learn.

As I look back in hindsight, I think I took for granted,
The fact that she would be alright, out there taking chances.
I thought that she would go back home, I guess that Id be glad,

To know she had a safe return, back to her mum and dad.


Poetry written by Ben Westwood, Musician and poet. UK
Copyright Ben Westwood. 

To view all fourteen current poems from this project click here.

Follow the true story of a young teenager running away from home and the state, in a premature search for independence. In poetry.

Making choices that often only a young mind would make, Ben tells his
 story and memories of being in the social services system from eleven years old, as well as 1990s London street life, as a missing runaway sleeping rough.

From angels, predators, shocking times to heart-warming moments, Musician and now debut author Ben Westwood gives an insight into the mind of a rebellious-spirited youngster trying to find his own way in the world.
You can read the first fourteen poems written for this project at the following link.

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