No Voice.

Written by 14-year-old Theo, this poem reflects on fairness, voice, and what it feels like when people are spoken for rather than listened to. It’s a powerful reminder that young people notice more than we often realise - and that being heard matters at every age.

Why am I never represented in larger conversations?

Why when someone else does something do i get burned

Why do they pretend to forge salvations

Why do i get thrown in the fire with innocents to be churned

When others defy their authority and question their rules

I am hung with them to be punished

Even if i didnt even try to convince the fools

I am still screamed at till they are banished

Isn't it aggravating that i could have been perfect

And yet I'm in the “guilty” crowd

They act like its all of us who defect

Their venom booming out loud

I would somewhat compare it to mass slaughter

Sure the intended targets may be struck down

But bodies of the innocent make the fire burn hotter

Blood of the bystanders make the guilty drown

Amongst us they sow discord and fear

Tricking us to turn and weed out the guilty

They teach us betrayal so we hold it near

Make us feel like criminals, make us feel filthy

They talk”for us” say they know what we want

But they don't know what we really need

They just follow their thoughts, not our hearts

Even if their thoughts make us bleed

They don't ask for our opinion

They just do what they think is best for us

Even if all it does is push their dominion

And they don't put it up to discuss

When we protest against it they call it disrespect

Then they shove guilt down all of our throats

Not just the protesters who they want to correct

But for everyone whose lives can barely float

It shouldn't be a crime to speak your mind

To try to change things that we had no voice in deciding

Our cries they seek to bind

Because on their high horse only they can be riding

Their decrees wind around us like invisible chains

That grind tighter when you try to break free

They wish that they pulled the strings for our brains

So that we can never even see

By Theo McCosker-Hancock