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Please note: this piece contains strong language


The social worker’s name was Teresa. She had glasses, short blonde hair. She looked like a teacher except she was younger.

She’d be there every second Tuesday when me and Bex got hame fae school.

Me, Bex and Sarah would be on the sofa. Mam and Teresa would be at the table, talking, drinking coffee.

Aye, athing’s fine, said Mam. Apart fae this ane and his cursin and swearin.

Mam said it like it was just something funny but, Teresa didn’t take it that way.

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Warning: This piece contains strong language  

It’s hard not to pontificate,
While trying to articulate
The burning black despair,
That life just isn’t fair.

Is this what’s known as fate?
To feel this deep a hate,
For something someone else controls.
Alas, rejoice! There’s avocado rolls.

Days spent furiously dreaming,
Of a wallet fat and gleaming.
Trapped into what we’re worth,
By the simple act of birth;
Inside my mind is screaming.

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defiance, individuality