Voices 2025: Lower Secondary Shortlist

Sometimes
My voice is defensive
It’s a wolf growling and howling
At the room
Threatened
Feeling hunted
Near its doom

In class I’m scared to say things out loud
Fearing judgement from the crowd
But when I sing, I feel proud
I open my mouth
Out comes the sound
My body feels like it’s floating on a cloud
Through the sound
I am found

I feel confident when I sing
Lost in song
My voice is heard
But when I am talking my voice needs to be strong
Because I am strong
Even when things go wrong

Alcohol, drug, gambling and neglect,
A short-term illness can leave a parent wrecked.
I found this something hard to accept.

When parents struggle to look after you alone,
Foster care offers young people a safe home.

I went into foster care when I’d just turned three,
A kind, caring, supportive life was key.

My brother and I have been together since that very day,
We sometimes argue, but our bond will forever stay.

Some people might think that foster kids aren’t academic,
But some go on to become a teacher, fire fighter or medic.

Foster carers have a chance to change a child’s life,
Going into foster care can be a sudden surprise.

Some think that foster carers are in it for the payment,
This depends on whether it’s a private or public placement.

I’ve been in foster care for over 10 years,
It’s not always been easy, I’ve have many tears,
A foster carer is what I’d like to pursue for a career.

A foster carer goes beyond and above,
It’s not always easy and can become quite tough,
But I believe family is not about blood, it’s about love.

I move around like a circus,
Always happy on the surface
But deep down my mind runs around
And replays an awful sound
“I will miss you” it spins round and round
“you’ll be home soon” but what’s that sound?
An engine revs and my siblings leave
I shut my eyes and breathe real slow.
I’m trapped in this show ,
Where stage lights are broken
All my hopes are stolen and my words are unspoken. Where is my mother? Where is my brother? Why do I always hide under the cover? I feel like a clown,
Trusting these people for they are not my own.
I had never let my disappointment show
But now I play on my heart strings like a guitar solo. I’m a small mouse in a giant circus world,
Whose others words hurt the most.
I move around like a circus,
Why am I always so unfocused?
I can’t control these stage lights anymore, now I must leave through another back door.
Like i have once before.
Hiding these tears and ignoring my fears.
I am a mouse, in a giant circus world.

When I first entered foster care,
I found lots of things difficult.
One of those things was leaving my family behind.
One day, a knock was on the door,
And, before I knew it,
The police whisked me and my younger brothers away.
It was scary and we didn’t know what was happening,
Unaware that was going to be the last time we would see the rest of our connections again.
Ending up in different homes was worrying.
Would we have a forever home?
Getting passed around in different homes,
Each one I lived in,
I thought that was going to be forever.
Oh! How wrong I was!
I felt like I was being tossed around like a toy.
Us foster children are not toys,
We are children, like other children that need to be
Accepted, nurtured and protected, No matter what.
Throughout those difficult years, I learned lots of things,
Like speaking my mind confidently.
I had therapy for a long time,
And that helped me a lot.
And with the right people at last,
I wouldn’t be who I am today without them.
They encouraged me,
They helped me achieve things
I thought I wouldn’t have been able to years ago.
Even when I had my ups and downs,
Even when I couldn’t see a way out of the dark.
I am grateful to them,
Even though the system hasn’t been what it should’ve been.
One day, it will be my turn to help other foster children like my foster carers helped me.
I am able to go to school,
Though when I was with my very first Foster carer, I refused to go to school.
Because I was unhappy.
To be honest, I’m glad I left my family,
But I will always miss them.
Especially my mum.
She was kind, caring,
All the things a mum should be.
But sadly, she couldn’t look after me,
The way I should’ve been looked after.
Accepted and denied,
But still,
Here I stand,
Coming from all those years,
I am stronger than I used to be.
Scared and alone at the beginning.
Unsure of where my journey would lead.
And now I’m braver than I was.
With the right care,
My family couldn’t provide.
I used to think it was all my fault,
That they couldn’t look after me.
Now I know, it wasn’t.
When I first entered foster care,
I realise now,
That actually was the best day of my life.
Despite feeling like the ‘odd’ one out.
Lied to saying there’s a naughty list,
And I know now that there isn’t.
I was once a lost young girl first entering,
Into the system.
Now, I know who I am.

I was born with my voice, a gift wrapped in sound,
A beacon to guide me, a lift from the ground,
Me, I, given the power to speak what I feel,
To carve out my truth, to name what is real.

A melody lingers, my own mothers refrain,
Echoing softly through pleasure and pain,
In every sweet note, a beloved memory flows
A whisper, a hug, in the ebb and the throes.

My voice carries stories, emotions unleashed,
Passion and purpose, my pain is released.
In the shadows of foster care, I longed to be heard,
As the silence around me, swallowed each word.

They say they know best, with their charts and their claims
Yet how can they understand my depths or my flames?
I speak for myself, in a world that feels hollow,
Yet they silence my needs, like my cries are to follow.

“Speak up” they all say, yet they twist what I share,
Turn my hopes to the void, as if I’m never there.
Do you truly believe my voice carries weight?
Do you think that I matter or is this just fate?

I wield my pen fiercely, my only form of words.
like daggers they fly
Hoping one pierces through the fog and the lie,
I never hold back, let the words flood and tumble free,
For in the raw essence, it is the real me they see.

For how can your hands reach out to mend,
When my story falters and you don’t understand,
Each tale I willingly share, a call to you,
But in the echoes, my voice slips and falls through.

I deserve, not just want to be listened to and known,
To share the hard battles and reap what I’ve sown,
No judgement, just kindness when I take the stage,
I want respect for my choices, a turn of the page.

This voice that I nurture, it carries my soul,
It’s vital, it’s needed, it makes me feel whole,
So listen, hear me, not just in refrain,
My voice is a blossom through sunshine and rain.

For you need my voice too, just as I need it too,
Together, we can build, let the old break in two,
So please, let me be heard, let my truth take flight,
In every spoken word, in the healing of light.

Let me speak for her, as she is the reason my voice is here. ♡

Discovering my voice has been a journey. It was lost from birth and buried under uncertainty, whispers, and truths waiting to be expressed. I wasn’t given the chance to speak, to be heard, or even to cry. My life began shrouded in silence, as though the world had placed a mute button within me before I could utter a sound. My story doesn’t start with silence, but with a question: *Who am I?*

Adoption, especially at a young age, represents a paradox. The truth I grew up with is that I belong to two families. Life was a blend of two extremes, but there was also an ache, a pull toward the unknown. A question mark loomed over my existence: *Why didn’t my biological parents fight for me?*

Adoption has made me stronger, but I’ve also become incredibly vulnerable. I was raised by a family that gave me everything they could, and more. They showed me unconditional love and acceptance. Yet, a part of me has always wondered if my birth family think of me. Do they wonder if I’m okay? Do they ask the same questions I do? What did they feel when they let me go?

My biological father, now gone, visited me when I was a baby. I don’t remember him, but I wonder about the man he was. What did he hope for me? What did he feel when he had to walk away? Those unanswered questions swirl in my mind, yet I hold onto the fleeting moments I’ve been told about him—tiny connections that will never fill the gap in my heart.

I also communicate with my older sister through letterbox messages. It’s not the same as hugging her or hearing her laugh in person, but it’s a way to connect. Though we’re separated by distance, I carry her with me in my heart, just as she carries me in hers.

It’s strange, this dual existence. I speak the words of those who raised me, but also the words of the ones I never met. I sing their unspoken songs, songs of longing, of wanting to know who I am and where I come from. The weight of silence can feel heavy, but I’ve learned that my voice has always been mine, quiet and uncertain at times.

Adoption has taught me that belonging isn’t about blood or DNA. It’s about heartbeats—the ones we share and create. My voice is the sound of love that has carried me through every question and moment of fear. Today, I stand not as someone lost, but as someone found.

This is my voice—a voice that speaks of love, the questions I ask, and the strength I’ve found in the spaces between silence and sound. A voice that tells the world I am whole, I belong, and I will always be heard.