When you shouted

This poem was created by Hannah Walker, based on messages left by children and young people at the WHY? Festival, London, October 2016

I felt like a firework set off in a protest sparks settling down setting signs alight.

At each meet, I am mute, so I talk to myself, my lips puppets, I am unwanted, I say, to myself.

I am a wasp at a picnic, a puppy at a pound I am a small matter with small sounds. I don’t belong with the pack, I am on a solo track.

A dandelion seed floating on wind left out, frustrated, hated, isolated, not good enough, I am not good enough.

I am a ghost at school gum on the back on a shoe, a worm being trodden on until blue.

I am a lion being tamed, a bear baited a mouse amongst elephants stampeding.

I am pretending to be a painting, I blend with the wall. I don’t feel real. I don’t feel anything, but blankness.

I shout to bring the blood back. I need to lash out, close my eyes and doubt