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,
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