Tamsin Trevorrow is an activist, poet, public speaker and workshop facilitator. Focussing her work on exposing areas of injustice.
She has successfully initiated a programme called “A fighting Chance” which takes self defence and self empowerment classes to women at risk of trafficking and violence globally. She was orphaned by the age of 15 and then went into the care system facing exploitation and homelessness. She has become a seasoned and passionate fighter for the rights of oppressed people groups and uses her voice to tell their stories.
I am: The fabric on which you left your stain
I am: the mind tortured and torn
I am: the shredded file you threw in the bin
I am: the child prostitute? But there’s no such thing!
I am: the music always playing within
I am: beautifully broken, gold fills the cracks you wove into my skin
I am: the crown you wear when you want new contracts!
Money, Money, Money
I am: the sociopath, too damaged by age 5 to feel, apart from rage and fear that is!
I am: the empath, a sponge absorbing all pain, shame and grief
I am: the Mother too scared to ask for help in case “it” happens again
I am: the Mother not knowing even where to begin!
I am: the college lecturer hiding his demons, mostly In a bottle of gin
I am: the graduate
I am: the drop out
I am: the high flyer and low rider
I am all of these things!
I am: the one who lays awake at night
I am: the one who sleeps… with pills or drink
I am: the one with auto immune diseases the body keeps the score
No matter how many smiles are “worn”
I am: the child locked in the cupboard
I am: the black boy in the cell
shhhhh we won’t tell
If you don’t!
I am: Daddy’s girl, with multiple fractures long since healed
I am the one who regresses to a toddler when life throws “shit” beneath my wheels
I am: the boy they call the fantasist (why wouldn’t a child raised by wolves seem more real) Irony!
I am: pissed off with your beurocracy and a system that has failed
I am: done with being wheeled out at your fancy posh events for a voucher or 3
While your CEO creams a 6 figure salary from the children you steal!
I am: Not going to be silenced I am a warrior with a voice
Please let me be heard!
Whether I am riding on a wave crest or homeless in the dirt
I am: the over achiever you clap and give awards
I am: also the one serving time; carving scars in prison walls!
I am: cosy in my penthouse
I am: crawling in the gutter
I am: living to a ripe old age
I am: hanging from a rope
10 days dead in my flat and know one even knows!
I am: a statistic in the papers
I am: a number on your books
I am: everything you said I am
I am: everything you thought I was not!
I am: a conundrum
I am: easily read
I am: human
I am: precious
I am: living I’m not dead!
I am: lost
I am: found
I am: all and non of the above!
I am: a kid that’s been in care
And all I need is LOVE!
Darkness stalks in a box of pills
Whispering promises of sweet relief
“I’ll numb your pain and still your greif”
We slip them down with a watery drink into the cavernous depths of our souls beneath
“Takes two weeks for them to grip, relieve the itch to leap”
Or so they say!
I wait, I itch, I wait
There’s no relief
Comfortably numb would do
But no, this numbness is paralyzing glue!
It’s sticks my thoughts
To blackened stumps of deadend trees
A slow death this torturous process is
I didn’t want to feel the pain
I’m looking the ability to ever feel again!
“They work for some but not for others, let’s change the dose and the letters on the covers”
I listen to the voice of the medicine man cause I have no choice and I have no plan
But the truth is he is as much in the dark as me !
Apart from the pharmaceutical bonuses he receives !!
The numbers are increasing but the ignorance remains
The tablets are not working
They are driving us insane!
The cure for all our “mental ills” is not just a prescription and a bunch of pills!
There needs to be Love, care, nurture
Body, mind and spirit
STOP seeing me as a number or just a statistic!
Give me nutrition for my outward man
Love and healing for my soul
Address the inner trauma beneath the scared scars of old
You see I’m someone’s daughter, someone’s mother someone’s son someone’s brother
My medicated tears are streaming down my face
CAN YOU SEE THEM!
As I sit looking out the windows of this hospital cage
Trying desperately to be found so I can cast these heavy chains down on the ground
I want to feel the sunshine again… within
I want to love and not be drugged
I understand my complexities confuse you; they confuse me too!
But there must be a better way, another way to set me free
I don’t want to do the “zombie walk” through stuffy corridors
I want to run on coastal paths like I did in days of old
This method is not working
Please be open, hear me, see!
Wipe the old formula from the slate
Let me LIVE again before it’s too late