Ethology 2014 anthology by Ricardo Vilela

2014

Credits Wordsmith team: Shirley May Reece Williams Nicole May Chris Jam Live event production: Flo Wilson Magazine photos: Zuza Grubecka Magazine design: Ricardo Vilela Guests: Free Wize Men Zahid Hussain

Thanks to Young Identity Manchester United FC Community Commonword Commapress A BLACK HISTORY MONTH PROJECT

Foreword Year after year I am overwhelmed by the commitment, the confidence and the capability of our young people when they become part of the Wordsmith Awards. The progress made in ten weeks is astounding, with pupils developing real life skills and building meaningful relationships with their teammates. Wordsmith draws out the passion and individual voices from young people who are under so much pressure to fit a mould; it creates a platform for students to explore feelings and express opinions. It is the not-so-secret club where it truly is about the ‘taking part’ and the enjoyment – where self-reflection and evaluation occurs no matter what the outcome of the final showcase. We are proud to take part in Wordsmith each year and delighted to support the project’s continued success and growth. Becci Wadeson Burnage Academy Boys

Index p.03 Credits p.03 Foreword p.05 Results 2014 p.06 p.10 p.14 p.20 p.24

Burnage College Whalley Range High School for Girls Y9 Loreto High Whalley Range High School for Girls Xaverian College

Black Historyy Month RESULTS 2014

2014 YEAR 9 WINNERS: BEST TEAM: WRHSG 6th FORM BEST PERFORMER: ADNAN MOHAMMED BEST LINE: INES DA SILVA

“The only way to kill a tree is to pull up its roots”

6th FORM WINNERS: BEST TEAM: Xaverian BEST PERFORMER: AMY PATRICIA HANNAH WHALLEY RANGE BEST LINE: AISHA KHAN

“A woman’s blood etches every man into existence” 5

"If a caged bird sings, a beaten dog will bark" Abdul Rahman

"But when did a helping hand lead to prison?â&#x20AC;? Adnan Mohammed

Burnage Academy for Boys Tutor:

Yussuf Mrabty Team:

Ijaz Rana Adnan Mohammed Adam Mussa Araful Haque Abdul Rahman Murshed Ali Most improved:

Abdul Rahman

Make my mark I am the shining light when you see dark I’m the voice of the voiceless An ordinary man but I make my mark I’ve made my choice and my choice is stark I spoke for the rest and spoke for the choice less I am the shining light when you see dark I saw the floods of injustice and built an arch They tried to drown me in the water that was poisonous An ordinary man but I make my mark If a caged bird sings, a beaten dog will bark I’m not intimidated by my enemies, they’re only boisterous I am the shining light when you see dark An ordinary man but I make my mark. By Murshed Ali

Explanation I know why a caged bird sings while cruelty undergoes a promotion. Living the dream. Worrying about which outfit goes with which shoes. Tormented and abused. Gurgling on the very water that ends your life. Lying crooked on cold concrete. Moaning the words ‘help me’. Thrown away like unwanted furniture. Backs turned, disgusted faces, precarious civilians, But when did a helping hand lead you to prison? A society truly infiltrated by propaganda, feeding on the naive minds, I know why a caged bird sings. Faint voices, whispering torment. Blank faces. Expunging the nauseating site from their feeble minds birds sing as words inspire but words create a freedom fighter. Maya Angelou, her words so strong that swing low leaving dropped jaws after painful punch lines. Her words so extreme a voice is yet just a projection. “Tweet tweet” the bird tweets courageously. Tormented, standing proud getting back up after being thrown down. Why? Well because it knows its soul roams free. So now you know why a caged bird sings.

Why the caged bird sings? Do you know why the caged bird sings? It sings when in depression To escape eternal oppression She knows her song will not be heard, It sings so people will recognise that bird. Do you know why the caged bird sings? The small bird sings because it knows it can’t escape But its voice travels further than any cage you create. And while you thought you had the upper hand The bird strives on continuing its stand Do you know why the caged bird sings? It sings because it knows simple iron bars cannot stop its burning passion and it will burn through metal in any way shape or fashion. And wherever that bird sings, hope is what it brings Do you know why the caged bird sings? It knows the cage is where her body will always be But her soul will be free. And while her heart is stuck in this cage Her soul soars free on the world stage So the pain of tyranny may sting But it’s the reason the caged bird sings. by Adam Mussa

by Adnan Mohammed

Crazy Thoughts

Nelson Mandela

I am the one whose thoughts couldn’t be crazier I am the one with a burning desire I am the killer of racial segregation, an unholy creation

No matter your race, I’m part of the history I am a resilient man Right now justice is a mystery

I am the martyr I am the one with intentions more intense than fire I am the one whose thoughts couldn’t be crazier I am the instigator of war against the insane nation Against insidious liars and heretical hypocrites.

I lived a life of hope and misery Hell in a beautiful land No matter your race, I’m part of your history

I will make my legacy worthy of being mentioned as I am the killer of racial segregation I will form a free nation in which the helpless will not be subjects of annotations. Racial diversity will be sanctioned, my legacy will be mentioned. I am the ones whose thoughts couldn’t be crazier, towards my goal I draw near. I am the killer of racial segregation; I will not be denied my deserved elation. My creation will be holy, echoing throughout the new century. My words will be so loud that they will make the sly haters cry. by Murshed Ali

Locked in the dark, I had my epiphany We have to make them all understand Right now justice is a mystery Released in the shadows, to re-shape my imagery Set on a mission to save my motherland No matter your race, I’m part of the history Right now justice is a mystery. by Ijaz Rana

I know why caged bird sings I I I I

know why the caged bird sings, was there, stuck in a world of darkness, don’t feel stable, want to get out but sadly I'm stapled.

Why am I being accused of something for doing nothing? Why am I being kicked off a bus? Why am I going to jail yearly? I feel like I'm in hell, my guts are burning In my head my emotions are turning. Sleeping in the room of lonesome dark, I hear the whistling of the lark, I walk towards the sound, full of empty joy. Now I’m whistling too and we are joined I hear the lark my heart feels light I’m not here to fight I’m here to live my life. Look into my eyes you will get lost, Too much emotion, Too much loss. I know why the caged bird sings. by Ariful Haque

“Will my hopes and dreams be buried in my soul, like that of Princess Diana?” Madiha Chaudhry

“its only £9.99, 999 pennies to look beautiful” Ava Micklewright

Whalley Range High School Tutor: Miss S Amir

Amy Chadwick Coach: Nicole May

Team:

Siddiqa Hashmi Aisha Shahid Seher Ahmed Iqra Ali Madiha Chaudhry Ava Micklewright Nadia Bell Myesha Alam Masuma Akhtar Sumaya Aboukar Most improved:

Iqra Ali Awards: Best Team 2014 (High Schools) Best line:

Meysha Alam

"Because like a rose I too have thorns, like a tiger of the woods, 10

I too am formidable when provoked”

To be beautiful At first I was dying to be beautiful Beautiful just like mummy With her hair tied up and her face untouched Sandals clacking with confidence, her head held high Will she be remembered for her inside beauty? Her love and affection for me, her hard work and motherly duties? The advert on the TV shows a different side of beauty A girl with bleached blonde hair and face powdered with product. Will she be remembered for her body and face? Her slender figure and petite waist its only £9.99, 999 pennies to look beautiful. To cover up my face with foundation so my complexion is perfect, My eyes lined with black to make me stand out because I’m worth it!

To my destination Do you feel beautiful yet? The magazine told me HE would, He would now notice my baby blue eyes surrounded by make-up He would now notice my skin, my unwrinkled and flawless skin My curves that weren’t too curvy So I was gorgeous – I was thin. This is our society. Wear whatever you want! As long as it’s what WE choose Hold your own opinions As long as they follow our views. Let us tell you that you’re worthless And that you shouldn’t make a sound. We’ll be the first to lend a shoulder After we’ve kicked you to the ground.

This is our society We hope you like your stay Please – feel free to be yourself... As long as it’s in the right way!

I’m no longer dying to be like mummy Who didn’t care about how she looked With her hair tied back and her face untouched. How ridiculous was that?

Make sure you love your body Not too much or we’ll tear you down We’ll ask – why are you smiling? And we’ll question you when you frown

Finally I am dying, dying to be beautiful like her That girl I saw on TV with the bleach blonde hair That girl with the face full of product That girl without a flaw

Siddiqa: As I walk towards my destination, I hear noisy cars and the bustle of daily life. I see people in different shades of life, carrying their emotions like a fragile glass. Nadia: As I walk towards my destination, a sudden smell of smoke engulfs me, suffocates me… As a man passes by, judgement in his eyes burning like a dark river at midnight and hate worn as a crown, like a mosquito sucking every particle of confidence. Sumaya: As I walk towards my destination, it is sad I think, that in a country that boasts a freedom of expression, my veil is subjected to discrimination Terror terrorise terrorists. Seher: As I walk towards my destination, they ask me if I’m oppressed, ‘how pathetic is that?’ I think, they pick out flaws that I didn’t even know existed, cackles in my face, pricks and prods me, feeds me feelings of hatred, so that I question my own existence.

Myesha: As I walk towards my destination, I am broken from the inside shattered, crushed, crippled, the wounds will heal away with time, but what about the scars on my soul? Left by the words so full of hate and abhorrence that not even the words themselves can contain them. Madhia: As I walk towards my destination, Don’t offend my religion, Don’t offend my veil, Because like a rose I too have thorns, like a tiger of the woods, I too am formidable when provoked Ava: I will not be belittled by you. My bones will not be crippled by you. My skin, my race will not be flawed by you. My worth will not be scored by you. Aisha: So tread carefully I say, lest you be pricked, bit, torn from limb to limb, A confidence so high, shattered and replaced by regret and bitterness Masuma: As I walk toward my destination, don’t be shocked with my grisly behaviour, it is just a mere defence, Accept my veil, my way of life Accept me for who I am As I reach my destination; my will, my choice and my voice will over power them.

by Seher better than, Ava Micklewright, and Sumaya Aboukar

Grateful to be a Woman Education is the most powerful weapon, We can use to change the world. But what if it has been used against us? Siobhan Dawson: I wish school had taught me That poetry doesn’t write itself That I can dance without steps And sing without words That I can see without light But never forget That real life can be cruel And true love can be fake That you can play by the rules And you get what you take I wish someone had taught me That my story won’t write itself That I make the steps to my dance And the lyrics to my song I make the light in my darkness And choose remembrance. Amy Porter: I wish school taught me how to be my own person, that your life isn't defined by a grade or number. I wish it taught me how to be an astronaut instead of teaching me how to play it safe. I wish it taught me things that I enjoyed, things that I wanted to partake in, instead of being submerged into a 50 minute lesson that my heart or mind wasn't in. I wish it taught me that it was okay to daydream, that the things I thought about while looking out of a window could actually amount to something. I pledge to learn that life isn't about playing it safe, that if a child has dreams of becoming of the world, then authorities shouldn't dismiss this, simply because they don't have the confidence or drive to try for anything spectacular.

I pledge to learn that exceeding people’s expectations isn't a something to be sheepish about, dreams are a sole basis of who you are and should never be forgotten about, just because your parents may think that they're unrealistic. Nothing is realistic in this world, and it is our jobs to go above and beyond, as we only have one life. I wish school taught me that I only have one life. All: Education is the most powerful weapon, We can use to change the world. It is time for parents to teach young people early on that in diversity there is beauty and there is strength.  Patricia Snake: I wish my school had taught me how to tell lies How to keep my mouth locked shut And my fists clenched tight And my eyes wide open and say "No, you did not see me with that girl." I wish school had taught me That they would not believe me. I wish school had taught me how to  wrap up my hands and patch up my wounds and speak with a voice as heavy as a church sermon when I say "I will stay with you no matter what." I wish school had taught me how to find a safe place  instead of the square root of pi and how to reach for a pen instead of a blade. I wish school had taught me How to ask for help Instead of a box of pills And how to say yes to myself instead of saying no to other people.

My God, I wish school had taught me how to survive. My God, I wish school had taught me how to tell lies. Eleanor Moss: I wish school taught me to memorize a fact doesn't come with a free pedestal going high horse-less is the road best travelled. that others aren't a theorem, feelings are no equation, that wearing your heart on your sleeve is just asking for a punch to the wrist. Why did I have to find self-love alone and hidden in hard to reach places? Why is wholeness unbidden? I pledge not to come out of my shell, but to grow enough it no longer fits. I pledge to learn the outskirts of my boundaries, and learn how to take each one of life's hits. I pledge to learn all that I can, then still want more and know my knowledge is just a drop in the earth-sized ocean. Hannah Sypula: I wish school taught that not everything you need to know is taught in school Taught tolerance, patience, kindness and understanding Taught that it's okay for a girl to not want to wear a skirt Taught that it's okay for a boy to want to Taught that it's okay if your gender doesn't match your sex Taught that not everyone has a gender Taught that it's not okay to call him, her anymore Taught that you can love them, him, her, anyone, everyone and no one and it's always okay Taught that you can't help who you are and who you love and that's okay All: Education is the most powerful weapon We can use to change the world. We need to unlearn the way we’ve been taught To see ourselves. I am grateful to be a woman, I must have done something great in another life.

Fairy tales Myesha Alam: The beginning dangerous, dark, dull. The middle confusing, adventurous, amusing. The end perfect, happy, expected. Nadia Bell: Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s always a fairy tale with these aspects, but what about life? What I expect isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t reality And what I want is impossible Siddiqa Hashmi: The shattered pieces of glass poke into my eyes, The shattered pieces of glass that once were my dreams, As I look at those shattered dreams now, tears of blood roll down my cheeks, Aisha Shahid: I heard of Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, The beast that then became a gentleman, But what about this beast, will he become at least human? Masuma Akter: Will I ever see the love and affection that was in the eyes of Prince Charming for Cinderella in his eyes for me? Will I ever feel his hand in my hand when I die, like Snow White who lay dead after she ate the poison of life?

All: Will my hope and dreams be buried in my soul, l ike that of Princess Diana? Will my beginning be my end before I live through the middle, like that of Princess Diana? Will my heart and my soul be crushed in the hands of my Prince Charming, like that of Princess Diana? Ava Micklewright: But Cinderella lived happily ever after, and Snow White gained a breath, when the lips of her Prince touched hers, Seher Ahmed: and the Beast loved the Beauty, his words so full of fondness and warmth, not planted on her heart in the form of scars, Sumaya Aboukar: You say, Princes and Beasts do exist but only in the stories, But if Cinderella, Beauty and Snow White can have their Happily Ever After, so can I. Madhia Choudhary: So I will wait, and wait and wait, And one day eventually he will become human, and one day I will see love in his eyes for me, and one day eventually his heart will ache when I breathe my last. Like that of Princess Diana. by: Iqra Ali, Madhia choudhary, Siddiqa Hashmi, Ava Micklewright, Sumaya Aboukar,

Myesha Alam, Nadia Bell, Aisha Shahid, Seher Ahmed and Masuma Akter.

“So I’m sorry, but not sorry, for fighting for the outcome I’m the King to the Martin Luther and I’m the X to the Malcolm I’m the full Nelson in Mandela, the Kuti to the Fela, Because our people were rich prior, to Rhianna in umbrella”

Loreto College Tutor: Kat O’Niel Coach: Saquib Chowdhury

Godwill Bosama Team:

Maisie Metcalfe-Chung

“ Diana died driving with Arab blood in her stomach, To preserve the family line she was killed by her own mother” Matthew Baines

Ines Da Silva Godwill Bosama Matthew Baines Anna Tarpey Olivia Dale-Makin Most improved:

Olivia Dale-Makin

Legacy of Racism

“if your black don't speak proper because that's too white And if your white don't speak gangsta because your skins to light . And all Muslims are terrorists right?” Anna Tarpey

“Reality hits hard like baseball bats wrapped round with barbed wire” Ines Rosario Da Silva

Take the lead or take your life.   Empire or island?   Triumph or tragedy?    Malcom gambled with life and lost,  dice rolled round and he got a flush Along with Elvis dying of an overdose.     Terrorist.   Burden.   Destroyer.   Benefactor.   Hero.   Nelson stood up for what he believed in and Rosa stay sat down. Martin Luther killed King Dictionaries and the stereotypes printed in between the lines.   So the CIA took out the King and he was left as a martyr to us and a false prophecy to them.   Your granddad looked up and saw stars and mine saw dead charred bodies hanging like mobiles,   mothers no longer singing like lullabies, didn’t even get to stay behind. Their sun of freedom set as their wrists turned into metal   and they left behind everything and were given a new identity; slave.   Reality hits hard   like barbed wire wrapped around baseball bats,   took it like gifts but never gave back.   ‘Don’t fight fire with fire’ admitting they started the fire.   Still savagely attacking us,   history rewritten when Panthers protecting cubs turn   barbaric, ballistic, brutal…  yet sheeted ghosts are remains of what is Christian. Flat hands raised in the air we turned into raised fists   but paper beats rock.   Words children cannot fathom but still echoed during rap songs,  fired down through school corridors and muttered under harsh breaths.

We hear all of this and are told not to react   scorned for being the aggressive black man, the passionate Latina and as always   ‘pulling out the race card.’ Expected to be dormant volcanoes   whilst hearing of Trayvon Martin and the words ‘I have a dream’ at the same time.  A broken record of lies repeating the same story saying it wasn’t their fault like they don’t benefit from our oppression. Because we all look alike and they have benefited a thousand times,   Because we dance and twists our wrists   while simultaneously bending ourselves into a new society.   Because we’re ashamed of our accents   broken English and ugly accents. Because black children being murdered gets drowned out in the news.   Go to the beach and pick up a shell, you’ll hear their voices;   “What are you following me for?”   “I don’t have a gun, stop shooting!”   “Why did you shoot me?”   “Please don’t let me die.” And yet the dead are still painted as thugs,   told they deserved it because of their looks,   racism simplified in black and white,   crushed paracetamol hidden in cocaine lines.

#HandsUpDontShoot   turns into   #PantsUpDontLoot,   as if wearing a belt changes your complexion and people will look at your skin without question. There’s only one way to kill a tree; you take away its roots.

Ines Rosario da Silva

Group Poem: I’m Sorry I'm sorry I ripped your heart from your body and placed it in your mother’s tears I'm sorry I tore the world from your eyes and nailed them shut   I'm sorry I pulled the words from your lips and suffocated them with soil   I'm sorry I bound your hands with bandages and bouquets   I'm sorry I broke your bones and filled your carcass with earthworms and dirt   I'm sorry I cut out your soul and wove it into their mournful hymn   I'm sorry I covered your ears so you can't hear them sing Anna Tarpe

I’m sorry for believing that we had freedom,  Leading the lost sheep to follow a righteous cause  And living in age where we wouldn’t need to fight these sinful wars I’m sorry for, having dreams about equality  Having sustained a great amount of loyalty  But imprisoned for expressing my individuality  How can this be the land of the free?  When you’re still locking me up for my ethnicity I’m sorry for, asserting my views on living in paradise  Though for every coloured man who speaks: another must pay a price  They eliminated Red and King to be precise  While Madiba got lucky with his breathing device I’m sorry for, our sacrifice, educating the future generations  So children of colour can prosper in life just like the Caucasians  Not that being Caucasian is bad,  But white privilege is something we never had So I’m sorry, but not sorry, for fighting for the outcome  I’m the king to the Martin Luther and I’m the X to the Malcomn   I’m the full Nelson in Mandela, the Kuti to the Fella,  Because our people were rich prior, to Rhianna in umbrella I’m sorry, but not sorry, about the things that I say  Because our death is just another scene in the length of a play  So I promise you this when I lay in my grave   My coffin will be another slab in the path that we paved Godwill Bosama

Indifference

Overdose

What is the yearning for our dust to be  scattered? Small pieces and small memories  Could I ever live up to the fantasy   of that one child full of energy? Waiting for the pleasure of the future  she prays with not enough for the day   never will she find her right suitor  how many hours did she let slip away? Now she’s the girl on the screens at home  no – nothing’s going to get in her way.  Praying to a god she doesn’t know  she’s going to get herself hurt someday.  When I look back it was always a waste of time  from that perfect start to the finish line Because when it flashes,  flashes just before my eyes, it won’t be stars  and the endless universe and possibilities  it will be where I was once grounded,  but I ripped out my roots when they were thriving so deeply.  but the earth they grew in didn’t want to be the thing to hold it in. I wish they held that little girl  who wanted the stars,  endless universe and possibilities.

Many people have OD'd or got shot in the head,  I want to be known for what I've jotted in lead,  Cobain took his life,  He was a slave to the trigger,  Made a lot corporate money but lost a lot of his vigour,  Diana died driving with Arab blood in her stomach,  To preserve the family line she was killed by her own mother. Biggie and Tupac got bullets between their eyes,  Because money in man's hands makes man demonise,  Demons in the alleys and street corners we walk through,  How many deaths have we actually thought through? I want to wonder through the sand and carve art into the rocks, Why would you try and confine an artist to a box?  I am the war torn force inside the army getting shot,  I am the cast iron cannon shell left for dead to rot. Mandela delved far too deep into the food chain,  Died too soon before welcoming a new day,  Who will be remembered forever or for a century?  Who will remember me for marking my legacy? I will paint words on the walls of the Vatican,  Induce panic, send death threats to Cameron,  I'm not trying to be arrogant,  I'm just trying to be truthful,  I'm not searching this world for approval. for approval.

Maisie Metcalfe-Chung

We’re not Racist Everyone over the age of 18 can vote, black, white, man, woman, gay, straight,  as long as you live in the countries that matter,  the ones who's wallets like their stomachs only get fatter   the ones who get their rights served to them on a silver platter. If not, you better stab, shoot, bomb the ones who lead  till the knife wounds in dictatorship bleed.  Till all your children breathe  In the dust of defeat or victory. But that's okay because we're not racist  Different races no longer fight   But if you’re black don't speak proper because that's too white  And if your white don't speak gangsta because your skin’s too light   And all Muslims are terrorists, right?

Anna Tarpey

Matthew Baines

Addiction & Sickness I’m on the verge of tears, but I can’t tip over into the sea.  I’m as dry as a withered orchard, with its twisted, copper leaves. I could have been beautiful it’s probable that I am in some unreachable nonexistence;   a place desirable, so grand.   I am not the perfect catch, for I can’t be spontaneous and adventurous if I can’t even move.  I am one with this bleached bed by metaphorical, translucent tube roots.   It narrows down my opportunities when I’m as influential as an ant;   I stand for the CAN’T in INSIGNIFICANT – scratch that. I can’t stand.   When your life only counts for a statistic, nobody will hang onto your arm.   Nobody will kiss you just to kiss you, or work to see you smile.   I guess I’d like to formally apologise for being alive.   Occupying a hospital bed and draining tubes of white lines;   draining oxygen from the air for lungs destined to die. From within this cocoon, I’ll form a corpse, without a butterfly.   I am worthless! I am worthless. It’s fed into my brain.   I read these lines and watch the 2D screens, and nothing will ever change.   These patches on my arms only leave my skin to turn a shade of green I feel envy for the living, for they live for more than me.   Oh, no. I’m a disease.   The sickness within me has become my anatomy.   I breathe in the helpless cure and they shoot fluids into my veins –   but, as I exhale the waste, my throat becomes enflamed.   Consumed by misery and bound by white walls and signatures,   God is absent in this existence, for his preachers have never saved this nonbeliever.   I am not lost, yet never found, with the erasure of a body in a black bag with one name and no face and a fading memory that leaves the Earth with one simple breath –   and I am gone, with my last.

I lack love and livid rage; a thirst to live again or for my enemy, sickness, to be slain.   I am gone, with no remains, save for one headstone amongst thousands in hospital records.

Matthew Baines:

You deodorised the room with incense,  Caught globules of blood on your tongue as my lips bled,  You want me to talk,  With shallow eyes and a concave facial structure,  You held time between the tips of your fingers. Running your mouth,  Letting your tongue tiptoe across ledges,  And I cling to your words,  You cut yourself and bleed,   Please tell me it hurts. This is the moment where time is indescribable,  And indefinite,  The needle trips across my arm,  Causes harm, but feels delicate,  You are my carefully selected saviour,  Turned my back on the world and was stabbed in the trachea,  I romanticised the act of lying,  This apple green dishonesty,  Was the taste of bitter aniseed. A passion died today,  A heart bled away and fell precisely four feet beneath ground,  I saw your recycled brain in the lost and found,  Stop and bow, the sun thirsts for your obedience,  Your tin foil fingers left prints on my skin,  And tinted me devious,  Please tell me it hurts.

Still Born Abortion Maisie & Ines: How many deaths have the walls of women’s insides seen?  How many times have women watched as their lovers dream,  Of being somewhere else where they didn’t lose their greatest treasure.  A child that could’ve wished for their forever.    Ines: Wild nights and craving attention merely a teen, yet you still go on what could have been  My life tearing at the seams, a graveyard of faulty dreams  Pro-life rallies knitted together, however thread looser than ever Maisie: Sat, crawled, walked, talked, recited.  You can see pain through shuteye lids,  Don’t feel it on dead flesh,  Your child was not destined to die but to take its first breath.   My child can’t wonder what gentle song would be played next.  But yours could’ve.  My child can’t wonder which sweet they’d like best.  But yours could’ve.   My child cant wonder what treasures lay under the Christmas tree.  Yours could have.    Ines: Sympathy is what you lack, do you even care about the clothes on my back?  Life already living but you want the ones that due, sorry his room wasn’t painted baby blue

Anatomy does not equal Personality Maisie:  My child doesn’t have the chance to wonder if their first love could be the everything they wished for.  And yours could’ve loved,  Loved as much as a mother kissing her baby goodbye  as she would a thousand times over. There may never have been a child with a gentler face and a weaker grip on the world  And to have taken the world by a storm,  Would’ve made it rain but it didn’t grow to form   by simply not being born.  Ines: Maybe you’ll realise when you’re older, I didn’t have the devil on my shoulder  I could have been mother of one and you were left as mother of one.

But I did not kill my son.

Can you hear the people sing?  Can you hear the innocent lives thud across the concrete?  Can you hear the chants from their throats as they march on, tear up and choke?   Can you hear the ignorant claim that justice was dealt to the pile of stagnant corpses they turn away from?  Can you hear the people sing?   No. The voices of the slain are inaudible.  Just because it is 2014, it doesn’t mean racism is nowhere to seen.  It doesn’t mean discrimination is dead and gone, for you risk slaughter if you walk the streets and your skin colour’s wrong.   If your gender is wrong.  If your sexuality is wrong.  If you are religious, then you must consider that we are all made in the image of God – despite different faces, different names.   And, the person that you judged before you met has a piece of that within their heart, their head.  And, if science is your jam then you must understand that the only difference between a white man and a black man is the pigment of their flesh.

No one is born a devil, and all are born fresh.  “Hands up, don’t shoot!”  But, the only person with a gun here is you. The policeman, the protector -  the one who claims that he is the bringer of justice when an unarmed black kid is shot until his death.   Screaming in the street lights with tear gas in their eyes,  with fire in their throats,  they make a deal with the night.

If their legacy spreads from the way they fought and all they have done is for more than nought  then the night may have its victims.  But, the night that falls over Ferguson, L.A, New York, Syria, Palestine, Iraq, Gazathat night is a dirty, cheating thief.

Its demons and its deeds breed disease into those who cling to the right to breathe.  They strike down the many for the views of the few  leaving kids burning from seething burdens of bullet wounds.  The scars embedded in their flesh in grotesque, bleeding runes.  Didn’t they deserve the right to choose?

All is dead and gone, save for those left to lose more.  Save for the ones left to abhor the corpses of the slain, the ignored.  Those beneath police car rims, bruised, bleeding from their cores.

They are the victims left without recognition; villanised in the public eye with no respect despite the injustice leaving them cast aside.

Whilst I’m thinking: have you done your research?  It’s a recognised condition to live a gender dysphoric existence.  A development in an embryo that just doesn’t go and leaves you feeling like you must undergo surgery and change your anatomy, change the you that everybody knows.  Why is it your business what somebody looks like beneath their clothes?

Whether they’re an attractive woman or a transgender stranger or a black man with a hanging belt that “makes him look like he has a gun” -  it’s none of your business, and you probably won’t know if you have any common sense and leave them to themselves, unless they give you consent.

Olivia Dale-Makin

WRHSG 6th form Whalley Range High School for Girls Tutor:

Desiree Reynolds Team:

Rowan Mohammed Ashia Khan Hannah Ghafoor Asma Amir Maaria Ahmad Most improved:

Asma Amir Awards: Best line: “a woman’s blood is the ink which etches every man’s name into existence” Aisha A

Loud and Clear by Maria I say it loud and clear I conceive it right up here I believe and achieve right in here Lā ʾilāha ʾillā-llāh, muhammadun rasūlu-llāh There is no god but god, Muhammad is the messenger of God. It’s a way of life it teaches us what is right But some of you portray it as a fright I do wonder why the skies are feeling so blue I guess it’s the reflected truth That some people just don’t realise. The pain they cause to those who feel alive I feel upset when I see my own murder our own They seem to forget we are all one, not to be alone, But some of you blame us all and say our minds are born the same Try to put us to shame and all we do is endure the pain, for the sake of our own game. A reflected truth All we strive for is peace As long as there are no fees So tell me please what I have to do To make you see what I believe. Cos I’m Muslim you think I’m husslin’ but I’m only struggling Cos you make me feel I’m troubling I don’t know why we always blamed for everything. Even though we gaze so low And we tiptoe so you don’t even know, We can’t even breathe Because you seem to leave Anything good we try to achieve.

Untitled You can choose what you believe, Whether Allah, God, or someone who you devote yourself to Don’t let anyone choose for you. Patriarchy is the main enemy, As they have a tendency towards extremity. So don’t walk along their frequency Heads will roll, but to what purpose? You stereotype all men and women You see a Hijabi and be ‘like woah she’s a Punjabi and so is a jihadi’. Like an Iron Man villain, spitting and crazy Muslim is the new black But the oppressors oppress the apparent oppressed No one can be the blessed and not bless the rest, I’m blessing the stage with a reflected truth. You see a man with a beard and a hat on his head Straight away you think he’s gunna shoot everyone dead But all the looks seem to be mislead. Hey, wait a minute I see all this fussin’ as good attention So long as I don’t get mentioned Otherwise I’ll be sentenced But you know what? I don’t care The police have stopped me time and time again, even when I’m taking out my bin. Dare to wear a rucksack Labelled me with convictions and yet again there are other victims. But nothing can stop me, drop me or even trap me As I’ll remember the words of Maya Angelou I rise and still I rise Ill rise above mountains, fight for my freedom in any kind of kingdom, I say it loud and clear and believe it right in here I’m Muslim and proud!

“Let your brother collect you from school, it will be safer” O-Hella no You better hold on Cuz he’s only seven and ben 10 still rules Would a fair fight be between a man whose half the age of a woman? Some might say yes! Cuz what’s the worst she gonna do? Can’t hit hard enough! And all she’s good for is making tea Well if it takes two to make a child, why is it that we always make the dinner? And why is it that what men fear most about going to prison, is what women fear most about walking down the street? So when you’re chattin’ to girls “Oi sweet bits, Can I have your digits?” But wait, hang on bro Your mums back at home And she’s slaving over your tea. Not because it’s her job But because you give her no choice Or is it a cover up?

Because it’s too much for you to comprehend Does the sugar come before you’ve dunked the bag in hot water? Or before the milks pored over? So welcome to the struggle homie! Life’s a b**ch But She Aint Yours So if you wanna play the feminist game at least know how it goes! So your lovely mummies She’s worth all your dirty nappies And all your yellow stains, Cuz guys don’t lie You know you can’t aim. “Your girl” She’s worth more than all your Soddy, damp texts All your tell-tale lies All you’re understated comments that prove You’re not sure what you see in her And ladies and gentlemen Here’s a tip It takes two to make a child So it looks like Son You’re on dinner!

Postponed Ambition

Aisha Poem I want to be a book An idea which cannot be conceived Because my pages are a dozen roses Whose thorns pierce through your skin To shake the fear from every girl To tell them that the world still worked When there were no mirrors to be afraid of I want to be ‘that girl’ A woman neither caged in 5 letters 2 syllables and 1 word Nor someone who allows these 5 letters the power to absorb all that is within me And pin me down to the nearest dictionary They tell me not to let loose too many opinions; As if I were beggar stealing gold from the rich. My words are a sword; they are not fixed by their beauty But by the speed in which they roll of my tongue and cut you. Now, tell me if every other girl is just like me I want to be free Free of restraints Free of codes of conduct Free to be a pen which adheres to no laws made by man Free to travel where no border meets my arrival To stare down at my captors with defiance Free to be me with no fear of violence

A girl who knows that: a woman’s blood keeps this world rotating on its axis. A girl who knows that: a woman’s blood is the ink which etches every man’s name into existence The silhouettes bounce of the walls, Morphing into another of my pre-conceived fears Fear of being… A woman A female A girl A second class citizen Fear of existence I awash the room in watercolours With liquid dust I paint a picture of the girl I want to be.

An illusionary world is the place of all beginnings You may attend due to your hesitation, When they cry they shed their tears hoping to conquer their fears, Over a thousand years. Devastation was used as an excuse to cover their lack of passion. You see those who pardon themselves for all achievements, where no word has a sound or vibration delve within their bereavement a recurring scene within a location. It is devoid of all people it goes on forever with no sequel But for those who do achieve say it pays off at the end of the day. Only those who can cope will find it easier to elope the misfortunes and problems. Obstacles may arise there is nothing you can do but synchronise. Harmonise your thoughts and enjoy your detours Because if you don't then your true ambition has been postponed.

Asma

“Nothing is realistic in this world, and it is our jobs to go above and beyond, as we only have one life.” Amy Porter “you can love them, him, her, anyone, everyone and no one and it's always okay” Hannah Sypula “Only the deaf can hear us scream, Only the blind can see us dream.” Ryan Miles “we're not here to fulfil sexpectations,  nor to be meek, or to make your food.” Eleanor Moss

Xaverian College Coach:

Reece Williams

“I do not know how to tell her That the world is not coming to save her”

Supporting Staff: Marianne Daniels & Guy Perry

Patricia Snake

“I wish someone had taught me That my story won’t write itself” Siobhan Dawson

“Nothing is realistic in this world, and it is our jobs to go above and beyond, as we only have one life.” Amy Porter

Team:

Ryan Miles Amy Porter Eleanor Moss Siobhan Dawson Patricia Snake Hannah Sypula Most improved:

Eleanor Moss

Awards: Best Team 2014 (Sixth Form Colleges) Best Performers: Amy Porter,

Patricia Snake Hannah Sypula

Another Looking at me She is looking at me With big brown eyes The colour of chocolate, Not that she knows what that is.

It's just another tear in the rain, Another heavy sigh in the wind, There comes a point when you're lost, Where every step is in the wrong direction.

And her feet dig into the sand Which is nothing like the beaches in Hawaii, Not that she knows what they look like.

It's the crossroads uneven, It's the breeze of change settling in, A point where every action has no meaning, It's pointless fighting anymore.

She is looking at me, And she does not know how to tell me That she is hungry That she is lonely That she is afraid.

The best has come and gone, Whilst the worst is non-existent, Off the coast in a sea of grey, You'll drown in the monotony.

It's the feeling of giving up at last, Once the mundanity has worn you out, You lose all sense and feelings, You take your eyes off of the road.

Just like I do not know how to tell her That her father is not coming home.

Once all focus is lost from you, One little spark will set the world alight, Once your world is in ruins,

Just like I do not know how to tell her That the world is not coming to save her, Because it would rather talk about celebrities and bank accounts Than listen to her story.

Then you'll know what you miss and regret. Once the ashes settle in the rubble, The flood come to take it all away, Then the storms catch you in the eye, And all hope is gone. There's no way out but giving up, So closing your eyes seems the only option, But we can brave the bitter storms together, So please just stay awake with me. It is a long walk to freedom By Ryan Miles.

And she is looking at me and I Am Looking Back At Her

And I realise That the news does not always tell us The stories we ought to hear. And Maya’s words ring true, There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you. by Patricia Snake

Everyone Education is the most powerful weapon, We can use to change the world. But what if it has been used against us?

Siobhan I wish school had taught me That poetry doesn’t write itself That I can dance without steps And sing without words That I can see without light But never forget That real life can be cruel And true love can be fake That you can play by the rules And you get what you take I wish someone had taught me That my story won’t write itself That I make the steps to my dance And the lyrics to my song I make the light in my darkness And choose remembrance.

Amy I wish school taught me how to be my own person, that your life isn't defined by a grade or number. I wish it taught me how to be an astronaut instead of teaching me how to play it safe. I wish it taught me things that I enjoyed, things that I wanted to partake in, instead of being submerged into a 50 minute lesson that my heart or mind wasn't in. I wish it taught me that it was okay to daydream, that the things I thought about while looking out of a window could actually amount to something. I pledge to learn that life isn't about playing it safe, that if a child has dreams of becoming of the world, then authorities shouldn't dismiss this, simply because they don't have the confidence or drive to try for anything spectacular.

Everyone Education is the most powerful weapon, We can use to change the world. It is time for parents to teach young people early on that in diversity there is beauty and there is strength.

Patricia I wish my school had taught me how to tell lies How to keep my mouth locked shut And my fists clenched tight And my eyes wide open and say "No, you did not see me with that girl." I wish school had taught me That they would not believe me. I wish school had taught me how to  wrap up my hands and patch up my wounds and speak with a voice as heavy as a church sermon when I say "I will stay with you no matter what." I wish school had taught me how to find a safe place  instead of the square root of pi and how to reach for a pen instead of a blade. I wish school had taught me How to ask for help Instead of a box of pills And how to say yes to myself instead of saying no to other people. My God, I wish school had taught me how to survive. My God, I wish school had taught me how to tell lies.

ELEANOR I wish school taught me to memorize a fact doesn't come with a free pedestal going high horse-less is the road best travelled. that others aren't a theorem, feelings are no equationthat wearing your heart on your sleeve is just asking for a punch to the wrist why did I have to find self love alone- hidden, in hard to reach places? why is wholeness unbidden. I pledge not to come out of my shell, but to grown enough it no longer fits. I pledge to learn the outskirts of my boundaries, and learn how to take each one of life's hits. I pledge to learn all that I can, then still want more- and know my knowledge is just a drop in the earth size-ocean.

HANNAH

I wish school taught that not everything you need to know is taught in school Taught tolerance, patience, kindness and understanding Taught that it's okay for a girl to not want to wear a skirt Taught that it's okay for a boy to want to Taught that it's okay if your gender doesn't match your sex Taught that not everyone has a gender Taught that it's not okay to call him, her anymore Taught that you can love them, him, her, anyone, everyone and no one and it's always okay Taught that you can't help who you are and who you love and that's okay

EVERYONE Education is the most powerful weapon We can use to change the world. We need to unlearn the way we’ve been taught To see ourselves. I am grateful to be a woman, I must have done something great in another life.

RYAN Emotional baggage weighs us down, Whilst a dead issue helps us drown, Only the deaf can hear us scream, Only the blind can see us dream, We can only find guilt in bliss, So suffer eternally after this. We can only watch as accusations fly, No matter who they hurt or who will die, There's no empathy in the world we live in, A life differentiated is not lost in sin, Why should we be uncomfortable in our own skin? When all evil is rooted deep within. It is all dependent on where we lay our stones, Or which hollowed soul lives upon our thrones, Throughout the darkest nights our worlds were torn apart, One by one, they tore out our still beating heart, This is a day to washed clean and buried away, Keen hatred still keeps the wounds fresh today.

HANNAH ELEANOR You are a liar beyond any doubt You are the one we were all warned about, You are the pathetic excuses to our government You are a criminal you'll get your punishment. You abuse your power like the American police Yet you still stick around can't you leave us in peace? You are the mislaid trust in our justice system You know what you've done are you ready to listen? We are many and we are strong We see through your stories now we know you've done wrong We are no longer just passive wallflowers Now we've seen your colours we will no longer cower We are not afraid we will not run We will be relentless until justice is done.

(‘Women Do as They Please’): Prettiness is not what I'm here for  not your eyes, nor your enjoyment  catcalls aren't compliments and you're not  innocent I'm here to laugh, to fight, to struggle - to cry  if I don't wear a smile I don't have to try womanly is synonymous with warlike  ladylike with dangerous  feminine with ferocious  for who ever fights the system for longer  who is beaten down, but comes out stronger? makeup isn't a lie, it's war paint. they try to divide us into boxes,  bitch, slut, prude,  we're not here to fulfil sexpectations,  nor to be meek, or to make your food. don't you dismiss me, disrespect me,  we refuse to hide who we are, what we want to be,  to make you comfortable. women will do as they please,  with or without you on your knees. we don't need any permission  to exist, treated right-  bloodied war queens bulk our might.

Thanks to: