This Is Me

Sometimes the moon is Jealous of the sky And her beautiful ways. Sometimes the clouds look Beyond the horizon To those brighter days. Sometimes the sea Runs from those metal storms. Sometimes the weed Tries to suffocate The corn. Sometimes the tree Whispers between Tears of the rain. But then sometimes The sunset smiles And saves them all anyway. Sometimes it's not about what has been done, But more so What is to yet come. Boneata Bell 21.03.17

Veganism was something that had always interested me, but having not known a single other vegan, I had listened to the stories I was told. The different versions of tales that were told to me about extremism. I received enough accusations about vitamin deficiency as a vegetarian as it was. I was ignorant, I chose to stay blind to the truth and assume vegans were just being extreme.  I was wrong. I was lucky to be pulled out of my delusion when a vegan happened to add me on Facebook after reading a poem I had written for the newspaper. I accepted her, and over time I understood what I was seeing. I watched someone living a vegan life. A healthy vegan life. I watched her caring for animals, eating food, and wearing her clothes with guilt-free pride. It was the tipping point for me; I knew then, in that moment that I myself, had been another ignorant human being. I began to make, what some would call, major changes to my diet. To me however, they were minor changes. I swapped my da

I cannot  begin to pretend that 6:00am start s work well as a parent. I  wonder why I am ambitious as I hit snooze for the third time  this morning.  I eventually  bellyflop  out of bed, startled that I now have twenty minutes to get myself ready. I  then  gaze apologetically at the make-up and jewellery that I had presented beautifully, with all good intentions of using, the previous night.  When I had been over- dosing on caffeine, over tiredness and slight insanity.  It is pitch black outside and  t here I am  every morning, losing my  battle against the ice as I slide, ungracefully, across the dirty pavement.  I didn’t have the time to try my brand new work trousers on in the shop , Diego would have been appalled .  He’d have told me off!  S o I purchased them  anyway , disposing of the label and receipt.  T oday I gaze hurriedly around, with  ankles  on display, I begin to thrash,  hoisting them back up . Too short and too big. Yet I’m not throwing money away, so her