I lie in warmth and darkness and wait for the light; I’m gaining my senses, my hearing, my sight.
I wriggle my toes and suck on my thumb; I hear my mother’s voice, a soft gentle hum.
Ask them if I’m human, they’ll answer you no. I’m telling you I am, I just need time to grow.
I’m here, I’m alive, I just can’t speak; so give me a voice, speak up for the weak.
The journey is long, and yes there will be pain, but don’t hide from the storm, go out in the rain.
Don’t, and you’ll be asked on judgement day, why you stayed silent and hid away.
You never know the things I might achieve, if you just give me the chance, to live and to breathe.
I could have been the one, to help heal the sick, maybe find a cure for cancer, but I’m the one no one picked.
I could have been the one, to give riches to the poor, but the people in power see my death as a cure.
I could have been the one to stop war among nations, but they took my life away in one simple operation.
So I’m asking you, go out, for me and take a stand, for I am the voiceless, the words are in your hands.
By Rebecca Kidd, age 19