This Is Me

"There are so many colours in your heart that I could paint a rainbow..." Your sunshine smile So golden dims the darkening Clouds away. And pure white Natural beauty Shortens never ending days. Your violet rays are calming In this troubled clock of time, So stand beside me baby, Please put your hand in mine. Your sunset kiss So caring makes so many Dreams come true. Your courage and Your bravery are gently Painted blue. Your humour veins are yellow, Turquoise, bronze and green, They stand beside me baby And help to set me free. Your emerald voice So calming keeps me dreaming Through the night. And multicoloured heart Keeps me holding you so tight. Your snowflake opal kindness Saved my blackened heart from war, So stand right with me baby, I will never ask for more. ..."Your rainbow soul is perfect, Exactly how you are, From the moment I laid eyes on you, I loved you, Evermore." Boneata Bell

You pause in that moment, You observe and become. The castle you fought for has finally begun. Magnificent high walls And armour so charming, The beauty of it so contagiously disarming. You stand with such pride, In this world full of flaws, But you took it on and You handled it all. You gaze as in wonder, You smile and shine, It’s finally complete now, it just took some time. The solid strong locks, And fire outstanding, In place is the work that you found so demanding. You watch in deep peace, As your spirit flies free, You opened blind eyes, As to what life can be. Hard worker your challenge will one day be done. I kid you not though, the battle, You won. Rebecca Bell.

Biscuits Cure Problems I look into beautiful eyes as my boy summons me from my sleep. Remembering why my life has changed is hard, but I find strength as Diego smiles at me. “You will make it through today mummy,” he seems to be trying to tell me. It is my first month as a single parent. I’m adapting, changing, and I’m fighting. But I’m also screaming, sulking and losing my mind. I wave at D across the room and in response I hear a noise. I wish I hadn’t. It is all too obvious that it is time to change his nappy. And to run a bath. And to assemble my guardian angel for the day. Possible all at the same time. Let there be no teething! I cross my fingers tightly behind my back. Of course, quite predictably, there is teething. I peer at tiny sore gums that gel, medicine and teething rings won’t cure. Miraculously however, a biscuit from great-grandma will. Cue the roll of the eyes as I give up on his organic-healthy-no-biscuits-diet. I had never imagined life a

It is that time again. That time where pain fills my heart as I make a decision that hurts me. Again. I think back to one year ago when I had to give up breastfeeding. It still hurts. I can't even explain why. I'm in that position again. The guilt swallows me up. Who knew it would be this hard? I have decided to stop expressing breast milk for my son. I have been exclusively expressing for thirteen months now. I think that's a brilliant achievement.  I have come to that point where my life is getting a little uneasy; when my son was a tiny baby I could put him down in his Moses basket while I pumped and that was that while I watched over him. Now, due to the fascination he has with my pump, he climbs all over me, spills my milk and makes the whole experience pretty stressful. But that's not my only reason. There are so many reasons, but they all feel so selfish. I have put my son first for thirteen months, it's hard to change that. I could stop expressing in t

It IS my last spoonful. I promise this to myself every time I venture back into the deliciously smooth chocolate spread. It's 10am and I have eaten half of the jar. I feel bad. I look down and check that I can still see my toes. I'm not sure that I can. I wobble back and forth and then my son starts crying again so I dismiss my search. I decide to head back into the kitchen. Oh, I haven't actually left yet. I scoop out another spoonful. Diego is a year old already. Time is flying. It feels like only yesterday I held my newborn in my arms. So tiny. So quiet. Today I'm wrestling with my active crawler. Sometimes I'm brushing off stranger's frowns as my baby practices using his vocal chords to their max. I am learning to accept that a slap in the face is, apparently, hysterically hilarious. So of course, I am receiving these on a daily basis too. Who ever knew that clapping hands made the same incredible sound as slapping mummy across the face? Oh, Diego does.

Love is not temporary. It finds not what it wants, But what it needs. Love is not dreams but Must have needs. Love is not the wave, Or sunset sweet, It therefore is the wire And sometimes it is the seed. It is not always cherished, It perishes, Diminishes, In true love instances, It momentarily vanishes. Love is not temporary, but Temporarily forgotten, yet more regularly remembered. Love, it is not instant, or Sudden - in anger love, It is suddenly forgotten. Pain is portrayed by the Way love portrays it. The forest of dreams or wood Of disaster. Love it is Darkness in matter Of perfection. Love it is, Battle from battle By selection. Boneata Bell

Your smile melts the center Of my heart Like liquid gold. I miss it, as I miss you From afar. Your there, yet you Are not, Diverging branches from A dream, That always comes, Yet never leaves. I miss it, as I miss you From afar. Your soul hides the tender softness of my fractured hope. I see it, as I see you From afar. Your fire burns, So hot, within these, Scolding walls of mine. Always ahead, yet forever behind. I miss it, as I miss you, From afar. So forever close, Yet already mine. Boneata Bell 23/09/2015

It's freedom up here, Up by the stars, We sail up here,  From the depth of our hearts. I noticed her sitting by the far side of the room. She had this look about her.  One that made me think - Wow. I wanted to be her. - For this split second. She was perfect. Brave. Confident. I could see her tattoos. Her piercings. Her perfections. What a skinny dear. Her low top. High skirt. Careless. Then there's me. Worrying about what everybody thinks. Every word I say. Can it be misinterpreted?  I sat and watched her for a little while. Just a little while. She set me free from this family of, "This is how you must look-be-behave". She made me smile. She walked away from the stars and kissed the tress as she passed She's up by the stars, We sail up here, From the depths of our hearts. Boneata Bell 14/09/2015

It is hard to explain pain. The kind that cuts into your heart. Eats away at you. That's exactly how I feel every time I think about breastfeeding. It never happened for me, you see. I longed for it. I did try, I tried my hardest, but it didn't work out for us. I went into labour on my due date, the 18th September 2014. It was the last thing I expected, nobody has their baby on their due date! During my pregnancy I had read every book I could find and dissected every piece of breastfeeding information I could possibly try to remember. I was ready. I didn't prepare for it to go wrong, I had no formula back up in my hospital bag. This WAS going to work, I'd convinced myself. My beautiful tiny 6lb 11oz baby boy was delivered on September 19th, and put straight to my breast. It hurt, but I expected that. The rush of love I felt for my baby was incredible, beyond any words could ever explain. I winced through the pain, that was probably my first mistake. It didn't

She wants you. Like seduction wrapped in Golden lace, And raindrops trapped among A lilac storm. It's more than you she wants, She wants you whole.  She wants you. Like the trees fighting  Against the Velcro wind, And song whispering, Across the ocean waves. It's always you she wants, She wants you more.  She wants you. Like the gentle touch of Skin across another's cheek, And secrets dancing, Across imagination's sea. It's more than you she wants, She wants you free.  She needs you. Like panpipes loud in Fairy dust, And sunrise low within That tainted sky.  It's more than you she wants. It's you and I.  Boneata Bell 27.7.15

He is the devil. And good memory, Playing music in my head. The blurred vision, Lipstick kisser And loaded pistol to my skull. He is the dead, He is the dying, Perfect slick imagination. Sudden favourite Disappearance. Wrongly stolen and then given. He is Hell, He is my heaven, I can't resist, The lipstick kisser. Such mischievous, Wrong behaviour. Temptation forms the Mr. He is the gone. He is the here Pastel-slurring non-believer. Floating limbo, Falling fragment. Rotten puncture forms achievements. He's my shadow, In the sunshine, In the dark, he is my light. That chilling, brain dissection. Follows crossbows, By your side. Boneata Bell

The hardest thing about expressing is the exhaustion. There have been so many times that I have closed the door from the world and sat and cried. You have a newborn who isn't sleeping through the night and then you have to get up and force yourself to express your milk at 2:00am, then 4:00am, then 6:00 am. All you want to do is sleep. Exclusively expressing is by far the best decision I ever made, but the early days made me want to give up. My boy didn't start sleeping for longer periods of time until he was eight months old (three weeks ago and daddy can't do the night feeds due to his working hours), so by the time I had expressed for about twenty minutes, then fed my baby, then repeated all that again it literally felt like there was no point in even trying to sleep. By the time I had pumped sometimes I was wide awake, other times my eyes were closing on their own and then other times I'd forget to pump completely and wake up in a panic that I wouldn't get

My new way of life. On September 19th 2014 at 3:20am I gave birth to the most beautiful little baby boy in the world. Throughout my pregnancy I had my heart set on breastfeeding. Nobody in my family had ever done it, but I wanted to make my own decision and listening to all of the health benefits to my baby I didn't have to think twice. I began reading every breastfeeding tip available. I went into labor with all of the knowledge I could need, I understood that it would be hard, that it would hurt, but it didn't go to plan at all. My baby boy was placed onto my chest and his very first latch took us ages, and it was painful. I had my heart set on it getting better. I held him in my arms and the hormones that hit me were incredible. I could never begin to explain to a mummy that hadn't breastfed just how amazing that feeling is. I still long for it now, nearly nine months later. I don't know what causes it, the rush of hormones, having a new life in your arms or fee

It began with a smile, At my very first creation. I placed it together, With my young imagination. The pink with the blue, It shone in the sun, Hooked to the fridge, My obsession begun. New scissors and crafts, I scanned the design, Something was missing, Not catching my eye! I added a flower, It danced in the sun, Perfectly placed it said, Happy birthday, mum! My sticker collection, Now useful tool kit, Sparkling insects 3D, Proving such a big hit! I proceed with a smile, At my every next creation. I still place them together, With unique imagination. In Wonderland I mix magic, With everlasting glue. And stick life together. With a card, just for you. Boneata Bell I now sell my cards. You can find me on Facebook at Tigerlilly Attractions. (It is a new page).

Over the last three years my life has changed dramatically. In 2011 I had just found the courage to leave an abusive relationship. I had just left college, I had no idea what to do next and my parents didn't want me to go to University. I was jobless, single and clueless. So I decided to turn my life around. I didn't begin it the right way. Over several months I developed an eating disorder. I managed to get myself from eleven stone to seven stone and I absolutely loved it, but when it started to take a toll on my heath I realised just how much I needed to pull myself together, so I did. My voluntary job at Estuary Radio went bankrupt so I found myself no longer on the radio, and I spent night after night crying as I remembered memories from my past that I desperately wanted to forget. One night I decided it would be my last night crying for cruel people, so I began to eat properly, and I hit the wii fit for up to four hours every day, I ended up in brilliant shape and had n

His breath quickens as he Rests upon my cheek. His wings wrapped like silk against my growing heart.  I have no idea how We begin, or how we part. His eyes fire red like the evening sun, as my eyes so causiously rest upon his skin. He's wild inside yet so tame within. And I want the love growing deep within him, Yet it kills, like a dagger with no shield And no sword, he dives through the waves, Like he's done it before. His arms hold me up as I Lay down to die, I see silk within A stranger that I never knew at all. He rides me like the heavens  Are about to jump, or fall. The angels sing above me, stars Alight and whimpering, I bite his  Muscled neck with ease and hear a symphony.  A duresk smile escapes my bruised  Red ruby lips, I had no idea Art was such a flattering-fine choice, like this.  So I call his name with little ease, imagining A man like this, I blush from head to toe With cheeks of such pink ruby rose. The real

Violet storm Was such a liquid part of me, A state in which  My youth then grew apart from me. Every day another restless breath, In which I grew Much closer to the act of death. So with this violet storm Playing clock above my heart, I memorised the code  In which my life did start. Closing eyes of hazel shade and Clenching molten fists of art handmade, I touched the time with tears in my heart And in my mind. Violet storm her clouds then thickened, As her laugher lines would rise, The plot it then did thicken As she dived into her eyes. So with her last breath constant she Would seek a mortal dream, She would balance with both heart And hand across the balance beam. In which her metal fists would break- Her youth again  Was born and tamed.  And there she danced once more Between the raindrops  Of the violet storm. By Boneata Bell

If you fear the dead, The living have cursed you. If you fear the living, The dead have haunted you. If you fear neither, The world has failed you. But if you fear both, The world has abused you.