A teenager is over the moon after beating hundreds of youngsters in a national poetry competition.

Tamara Lawrance, a student at St Dominics College, in Mount Park, Harrow, put pen to paper after members of the Poetry Society visited the school to do a workshop.

Her poem, called Need, was shortlisted after wowing the judges at a Poetry Slam performance at the Paddington Arts Centre, earlier this year.

The 17-year-old, who lives in Enfield, said: “I have always loved writing and performing, so this competition seemed like an ideal way to combine that.

“I thought I had nothing to lose by entering the competition, so thought I may as well give it a go. I got such a rush when I got up on that stage to perform, it felt amazing.

“Winning is a dream come true, I’m completely over the moon.”

Tamara, and the six other winners, will be brought to London and put up in a hotel to attend a poetry master class, and then perform their poems in a club in Oxford Street.

Need by Tamara Lawrance

What’s the perfect first bar?

I’m just walking, ‘till I get my first car then I’ll bus somewhere, far-fetched – no dogs.

Is there a point in grafting? Building empires for fickle paper just to live and die without it; Steve Jobs. Or Adam Eve Tree. Or Einstein, gravity. Recurring history, either way we’re left with fallen apples.

It’s almost fruitless labour.

Though mamma went through labour pain then labour lost so we could gain the Tory boys in favour? So who’s there for the people?

Look to the sky; He’s number one, they’re number two, sequel. Sequestrating benefits; the homes are meagre – diet. So is it greed or need that, hotspurs a nation, starts a riot?

We’re herds that are not heard. Fed with the wrong food. And now I’m hungry so tell me, are they the right-wing or, blue flag rebores the, gang we’re fighting?

See what we need is a goal, and a purpose. A life with joy in abundance, a surplus.

Are we too old for a guider? Childminder? Someone to love and to nurse me, like nursery. That man that picks me up like; Baby, I got you. Not a man that picks me up like baaaby - I got you; Or that friend that lets you down like - maybe, I got you? Be fortified in spirit ‘cos nothing else won’t flop you.

It’s got to a stage we don’t know who we are. Burst ‘cos we’re bursting but it’s all a façade. Wearing make-up just in order to perfect and image when ironically, we glorify the image, of perfect.

Back off the back-off, and bun all the guns. Merci mon Dieu, pour la vie tu me donne.

Fearing only one Messiah, every talent he gave, but even talent comes and goes like the talented Amy, so I recognise the prose as a gift as a deal, to help me, recognise his love ‘cos real, recognises real.

Real recognises real – uncanny. All I need is Father Son and Holy Spirit that’s my family that’s my trinity, helps me live my life I won’t diminish for, why should I start what I don’t intend to finish?

My Trinity; helps me live my life I won’t diminish for, why, should I start, what I don’t intend to… Finish.