Voices 2025: Upper Secondary Shortlist

Growing up, trauma by my side,
A shadow that lingers, nowhere to hide.
Through the ups and downs, it clings so tight,
Growing with me, day and night.

But amidst the darkness, a flicker of light,
Strength emerges, ready to fight.
With each passing day, I learn and grow,
Navigating the pain, finding my own flow.

The scars that mark my journey’s map,
Reminders of battles, bridges I’ve crossed.
Yet, I rise above, resilient and strong,
Turning my pain into a powerful song.

Growing up with trauma, a challenging road,
But I’ll face it head-on, with courage bestowed.
For within the struggle, I find my worth,
A story of resilience, my own rebirth.

Growing up, trauma by my side,
A shadow that lingers, nowhere to hide.
Through the ups and downs, it clings so tight,
Growing with me, day and night.

But amidst the darkness, a flicker of light,
Strength emerges, ready to fight.
With each passing day, I learn and grow,
Navigating the pain, finding my own flow.

The scars that mark my journey’s map,
Reminders of battles, bridges I’ve crossed.
Yet, I rise above, resilient and strong,
Turning my pain into a powerful song.

Growing up with trauma, a challenging road,
But I’ll face it head-on, with courage bestowed.
For within the struggle, I find my worth,
A story of resilience, my own rebirth.

Growing up with trauma, a journey so tough,
Through darkness and pain, we’ve had enough.
But remember, my friend, you’re not defined by your past,
You’re resilient and strong, you’ll overcome it fast.

With each step you take, you’re growing so wise,
Transforming your pain into strength that defies.
The scars may remain, but they tell a story,
Of resilience and courage, a tale of glory.

Through healing and love, you’ll find your way,
Unraveling the wounds, day by day.
You’re not alone, for support is near,
With open arms, we’ll help you persevere.

So keep pushing forward, don’t be afraid,
Embrace the growth, the progress you’ve made.
You’re not defined by the trauma you’ve known,
You’re a survivor, a warrior, beautifully grown.

Before being in foster care, my voice was a whisper lost in the storm—a flicker swallowed by the dark. By thirteen, I’d learned to shrink, to fold myself into the corners of rooms where neglect made a home. Words piled up inside me like unread letters, sealed with the fear that no one would care to open them.

Then came the anchor: foster care. Not a fairy tale rescue, but a slow unfurl. My new family didn’t just hear me; they cared, eyes bright with “Talk to us, we are here for you, always” For the first time, someone noticed how I lit up talking about the sea – its vastness, its rhythm – and signed me up for Maryport Sea Cadets.

The Cadets became my compass. On my first tall ships voyage, the deck swayed beneath me, salt spray stinging my cheeks as we hauled ropes in unison. “Eyes on the horizon!” our instructor barked. I gripped the helm during my watch, heart drumming as the crew trusted my commands. Here, I wasn’t the kid from the system; I was a leader. The sea didn’t care about my past, it demanded my presence, my voice.

Back on land, I became part of the Children in Care Council. In meetings, I’d clutch my notes, breath shallow, until a social worker said, “We need your input, what’s your solution?” My ideas on training programmes spilled out, nervously at first, then firmer as heads nodded. They used my suggestions—real change, translated into policy. I wasn’t just speaking; I was steering.

Last month, I stood at a Council Conference, microphone in hand, sharing how foster experienced young people thrive when given the wheel. My Cadet uniform hugging my shoulders like armour. “We don’t need saviours,” I said, voice steady as tide. “We need believers.” Afterward, a girl tugged my sleeve: “Your speech – it’s like you said what I’ve been scared to.” Her words live in my heart, proof that my voice could be a lighthouse.

Now, at sixteen, I trace how far I’ve sailed. Foster Care taught me to trust my worth. The Cadets taught me to navigate storms. The Children’s Council taught me to amplify not just my voice, but others too. I’m no longer a whisper – I’m a chorus.

Some days, I still feel the ghost of that silent, scared kid, but whilst I know she’s not gone. She’s the compass that keeps me true. When I speak now, it’s with the grit of saltwater and the certainty of constellations. My voice? It’s alive – in the creak of ship decks, in Children’s Council meetings, in the girl who heard me and found her own words. The girl who has found her true home and has aspirations I never dared to hope for in my life.

This life is different but it’s mine. And I’ll keep sailing, loud and unafraid, because I’ve finally found where I belong: in a world that listens.

Treat me like I’m nothing
Burn me to the ground
Screaming in my face,
Always trying to talk me down

Tell me you love me
Then you go and hurt me
Tell me you’ll be there
Then you go and leave me

What do I have to do to get noticed by you?

I’m going round and round in circles
Trying to figure out who I am
You still were never there, no you never cared
It’s always empty words to make it feel like you cared

So tell me what do I do now?
I tried everything I can to make you proud but
It’s never enough for you

You see me in pain
You see me crying
But never words if you apologise
Cos’ that’s the kind of person you truly are
inside

He first muzzled him at 4

when his father first decided he was dog and not boy, belt wrapped taut around his knuckles, he began to teach him the art of silence.

blackened bruising down his ribs, welts across his arms – he knew better than to scream,

But inside him, still that small voice, begging him to speak.

the boy knows even the weakest dogs can bite – the strays, the rabid, worthless ones, tied up at the post with their sadness frothing through their teeth –

And he wants to let his sadness turn him rabid, wants to be a creature so vile that the world turns him away – wants to know he deserved his fathers ire and violence, that he deserved to be a stray animal and not a child.

so when they take him away , when they tend to his wounds and pull the thorns from his back, he thrashes and growls –

bites the hands that hold him and draws blood with a violent shame.

He gnaws and scratches at the post he is no longer chained to – runs from safety straight into the jaws of an alcoholic middle aged man on the internet, some twisted version of his father, hoping to find himself in the straggled flesh-bits on his teeth.

but when he returns, torn open and ashamed, they hold the pieces of him in place until the skin begins to heal over –

and they tell him they want to know what’s inside of him – that sickening storm that eats any thing that comes near it – and he wants so badly to feel something other than darkness,

so he lets them see it

he lets them hear it

muzzle torn, mouth open –

At last, he speaks – a violent river of blood and

torn flesh / years of a silent death at the feet of his father /innocence pulled apart as a bloodied carcass to be disposed of

he speaks and his blood is witnessed by another being / his nightmares held by softer hands, his sins forgiven.

at last, he speaks,

and healing comes slowly and painfully and all at once – he is 17 and is just beginning to know what home means, or gentle touch

at last, he speaks, and he finds peace in the embers of a massacre

at last, he speaks.

Dear My Voice,

I would like to thank you for giving me strength and how you made me over come so many hurdles in my time in care. When I first came into care you were so quiet. I felt so lost like my head was under water and you were trying to scream for help but no one heard. You didn’t have the power to shine through.

Foster family after foster family, you tried your hardest to come out of your box and say the right things. You said all the wrong things at all the wrong times. I wished I had the courage to let you escape and make the difference I knew you were capable of. You felt timid and you were afraid of being laughed at or making me feel like the odd one out. We weren’t making life easy for each other.

Our relationship continued to grow and we started to make each other feel a little bit more confident. You started to trust and share your words with people who helped. You still didn’t get it right all the time and sometimes you shouted and screamed with frustration at everything that made us feel sad and lonely.

One day, we came to live somewhere new. It was here that you managed to crack the code. You finally felt like you were being heard and validated for who you really are. You could speak aloud with confidence and passion, people listened and you got louder (a bit too loud sometimes!). You escaped from your box and went from strength to strength – giving me opportunities I never thought I would have. Everyday you continue to blossom and I use you to help other children in my position.

I am so grateful to have you by my side every day, I wouldn’t change you for the world and I hope our relationship will reach the stars.

Thank you
Ella

For years, I whispered, afraid to be heard, A fragile echo, lost in the world, I thought my voice was too small, too weak, A silent river that dared not speak.

But life, like the tide, would not stay still, I learned that silence is its own kind of will, So I gathered my storms, my secrets, my fire, And spoke the words that built my desire.

“This is me,” I said, as the walls closed in, No more hiding my truth beneath my skin, I am the ache, the fight, the spark, A light unafraid to shine in the dark.

I found my voice in the quiet of pain, A wildflower blooming after the rain, I wrote my story in the scars and the seams, Carved from hope and midnight dreams.

They said difference was something to fear, But I learned to hold my reflection near, To see not a fracture, but a mosaic bright, Every shard of me catching the light.

Now I speak for the ones who still hide, Who wait for a voice to stand by their side, I am not just my past, I am not just my name, I am the fire, the fight, and the flame.

So hear me now, loud and clear, My voice is the song of a heart sincere, For every child who’s felt alone, Your voice is a kingdom, your soul is a throne.

No more whispers, no more shame, I am here, I am whole, and I stake my claim, This is my voice, untamed and free, A roaring river, the truth of me.

And when they read these words, they’ll know, That voices rise, that voices grow, From silence, from struggle, from fierce belief, That every story, told or untold, brings relief.

This is my voice—not broken, but bright, A beacon that cuts through the endless night, And if you hear me, then you know it too, Your voice has power; your voice is you.