I come from rice in water, dirty counters,

digital screens, pens on paper, from working

in the evenings, and an empty home.

I come from a loving mother,

a kind woman, from messy rooms,

healthy food.

I come from the words in my head

and words said behind my back,

from feet weighted over me.

I come from rocks in my face,

from verbal pain and pointing fingers.

I come from too many homes, restless nights,

from a bullet in my brain,

from loud noises,

from enjoying the silence.

Written by Catriona age 12, as part of Youth Word Up 2017