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An ex student contacted me today, he was one of the success stories from my last school. First person in his family to go to unviersity, studying Modern Foreign Languages - writing an excellent blog on football in Spanish. He and another student have been writing poetry on and off for the last two years - more unlikely poets you can not imagine. Anyhow he would like feedback from someone more qualified than a Geogrpahy teacher with poor spelling. Please post comments, advice in the comments section.

Newly washed windows mask the discontent within
The arguments, the fights, the sleepless nights 
Awkward silences often followed by loveless sin
Then the loveless look, making way for fresh fights 
Locked in your little council estate hell, 24/7
His bed your only escape, your glimpse of heaven
You can’t talk to him; he just fucks you and leaves
But to you it’s great, he loves you, you’ll run away together, you believe
Your reality is bleak but your imagination fruitful 
Your council estate affair keeps you smiling
You’re a slut; well you’re a fucking drunk, a wife beater, a cunt 
I don’t love you, I wish you were dead 
A council estate argument, you’ll end up in bed. 

Your promising smile masks the heartache you feel 
You’re happiness is a facade, you’re heartbreak is real
Your council estate girlfriend has left you
She was the one, but you weren’t, what the fuck should I do? 
You drink, you fight, you fuck, you hate 
You’re trapped in council estate hell, no chance of escape 
It’s already too late. 

You see somewhere else, fuck me, this is ace 
You see better people, those further advanced in the race 
You long for somewhere else when you return to estate 
You tell yourself you’ll leave, but never set a date 
Your routine dominates you; you’ll never flee the hell 
You talk of your travels but no one listens, despite their declarations of ‘please pray, tell’ 
They’re acclimatised to the mire in which you’re stuck
You can just hope to have more teeth than them when you’re their age, that’d be some luck
So go to bed in your one bedroom flat
And awake, alone, cold, scared, frustrated....go to work, earn the money that pays the bills
Oh, buddy, don’t forget your hat

You see crime; you see drugs, petulance and idiocy
All the things that you wish to flee
Good things happen to good people, but not to you 
You pray, you lash out in frustration but there’s nowt you can do 
You’re trapped, encircled, part of the machine, a cog in the wheel 
You’re council estate hell is the only thing that is real. 

You long to be a visitor, the one that escaped 
The one people look at feel a ting of the green eyed monster 
You long for that somewhere else, your own little patch of heaven 
Sorry mate, you’re stuck in hell, no admittance charge and cheap rates per night 
One condition though, don’t try and put up a fight 
This is a council estate, nothing flash, what you get is what you see
That’s not much at all.... we’ll book you in for an extended stay, you’ll never be free 
We don’t have many tourists, can you tell? 
Welcome to your stereotypical council estate, welcome to hell