We’re proud to reveal the winners of Voices 2025!

This is my voice,
The sun in the sky,
To me it’s my choice,
My voice makes me fly.

Like the sun shining bright,
Sometimes it’s a blaze,
My voice is my right,
Filling my days.

The sun is so fine,
It is mostly yellow,
Sometimes it will shine,
Makes you feel mellow.

The sun glares at me,
It is always around,
There for all to see,
My voice is my sound.

Moving with grace,
My voice full of glee,
Like the round sun in space,
MY STRENGTH, MY ENERGY!

Judges Patrice Lawrence and Deborah Maclaren said: “This is an awesome, bright, imaginative piece full of wonder and emotion. We loved how the writer compares their voice to the sun with a positive, hopeful and clever use of metaphor that runs throughout the whole poem. We are sunstruck and delighted to announce this young writer as the winner of the primary category”.

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.

Judges Emma Norry and Callen Martin said: “This is an incredibly profound and beautifully written piece. At just 12 years old, the writer shows a level of emotional maturity and insight that is truly remarkable. The title “A Journey from Silence to Song” is stunningly metaphorical, capturing the transition from uncertainty to self-acceptance in a way that will deeply resonate with many care-experienced individuals. The writing skilfully portrays the duality of emotions — belonging and longing, silence and voice — with great sensitivity. The final line, “A voice that tells the world I am whole, I belong, and I will always be heard,” is an incredibly powerful expression of hope, identity, and strength.”

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.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.
But the words are inside of me,
they’re buried so deep they’ve become a part of me.
A part of me, apart from me, the words don’t even sound like me,
but its my voice, the sound of me, inside of me.

They’re etched into my skin like embroidery,
woven over time like artistry.
I pull at the threads, but they’re a part of me.
Webs of thoughts hang over me,
like a beautiful picture, it captures me.

Through a maze of tunnels, I question my vitality,
I question my reality.
The truth will set you free,
but my truth is what trapped me.
It holds me tight, controlling me.

“Wear your armour” they say to me,
but I can’t anymore, it’s too heavy.
My shield has betrayed me,
it protects me from the words you say to me,
but what about the ones I say to me?

I can’t tell what is the voice and what is me,
what if it’s not black and white but a symphony,
your words and my voice in beautiful harmony?
Waves of words on the rolling sea,
I repeat what you’ve said about me.

Until its distilled so deep, its like a prophecy,
guiding me through my destiny,
my destiny or my catastrophe?
If I carry on, will this be the end of me,
the corruption of my identity?

This illness inside of me,
can someone give me the remedy?
A cure for the words that treat me like property,
they own me, they control me,
poisoned by society.

Consuming me completely,
these words become my mentality.
Then I think of the younger me,
a girl so full of hope and positivity,
no idea what her life would be.

That girl is still a part of me,
these words I utter become her vitality.
Changing my thoughts changes her reality,
my voice changes her destiny.
So I change the narrative inside of me.

Because I will not abandon me,
that much I can guarantee.
Her life is my responsibility,
my words can set her free.

Because that girl will always be me,
the voice does not dictate my story.

Judges Baroness Lola Young and Chris Wild said: “This piece was intelligent, original, and beautifully crafted. The rhythm and rhyme flowed effortlessly, enhancing the emotional weight behind each word. With a poetic and layered approach, the writer explored voice in a way that felt both original and deeply intentional. The imagery was striking, the structure strong, and the sense of self unmistakable. This was a moving and masterful journey through language—one that left a lasting impression on everyone who read it. An exceptional piece, full of heart and skill.”