This Is Me

Power. You either have it, or you don't. And that's the way it will always be. So, I'm sitting in my garden in England, it's a tourist area.            I'm imagining the beach to be over crowded so apt for the comfort of the garden. The back garden. It's private. The garden itself isn't small. Or large. It just, is. Just average. I've noticed the flowers my step-father planted last year have suddenly come to life given the glorious heat. Notice the emphasis here. Glorious . I am a sun worshiper. So, all sorts of colours line the garden, oranges and reds, separated by standing solar lights. This is my mother's little piece of involvement regarding the garden. My step-father is a gardener you see, so it's our job to stay away from it. They change colour, the solar lights that is. She likes colours, all sorts of colours bright beautiful colours, but if I had it my way they would be plain white. White is a classy colour and wouldn't cont...

Thirteen yards from destiny. Thirteen dreams stand tall. Thirteen years to seek a dream,  and watch it simply fall. Thirteen years for sun to set, upon a skin so white. Thirteen critics hold me up with thirteen wings of flight. I look upon a darkened hall,  my heartstring filled by doom. Thirteen tiny angels stand,  observing writing room. Thirteen hours away from death,  with velvet liquid by my bed Setting my mould by ten, I catch my desperate breath again. I drop onto my bedspread gold. And watch my thirteen dreams unfold. By Boneata (Rebecca) Bell. 2013  

She began to carve it, Like it would be the last one she Ever created. She began to love it, As if she would never, Love again. With silver strapped upon her back, She gave a noise of only calm, Inside she worked from dust 'till dawn, For future home as Eggs she held, Within her heart with mother's features, No smiles only instinct teacher. From the start, And from the heart. With strength they pushed inside her skin, But yet still she, Continued to spin. The rain fell then, with sound so known, An echo in her hole such home, Wooden shelter in the rain, She trembled then with desperate pain. As silver structure came to blow, The wind was bringing in the snow. All but watch was what she did, As deep inside she ran and hid. Unaware, yet unafraid, They sat there, so untouched- unscathed. A tear formed inside her brain, She shuddered but remained  still sane, For animal strength is nothing but stone, The stitches were ripped but mind was sewn. Sh...