Bella Dapilma, Writer


Bella Dapilma (Bella Saturdayborn) is an artist, mentor, and avid learner with a passion for using art to motivate herself and others to be the very best versions of themselves possible. Her writing comes from a deeply rooted spiritual place and she writes about a wide array of topics including womanhood and faith. She has performed at The Apollo Theater, Harlem Stage, The Nuyorican Poets Cafe, and various college campuses including Drew University where she co-founded the Drew Poets Society. She also teaches dance, music, and poetry to students in the Bronx through the Dreamyard Project.

Most Memorable TAP Moment:

“The most memorable TAP moment for me was hosting the open mic at the Urban Word NYC salon. It was so great to see everyone share their talent, and I felt so much closer to the group by the end of the night.”

Find out more about Bella here:


Should I lose my home
Maybe I can sleep
In the arms of a New York City poem
On these frigid lonely streets

Maybe she’ll kiss me
On a rock at central park
Or fondle me gently
In front of a bodega

Tucked in a corner
The moon has yet to touch
Maybe she too will leave me
A lonely beggar telling stories

On the Bronx bound 6 train
About a daughter I don’t have
Sick with a made-up disease
Anything for a penny

Maybe when I lose my home
And the poems are fleeting
I’ll learn to warm my soul
Call myself home before conquest

Hold my body steady
And want myself deeply

“Soenyametor Gakpo”

My great grandmother
Was a voodoo priestess
And a devout catholic
She swallowed a cowry shell
And birthed by grandmother
A hard woman with a wide dark hole
For a mouth
From which
My grandmother
Coughed out my father
During the dry season
His body cemented with red dust
Rolled in cocoa powder
Took my mother
As an offering
She birthed me
A sacrifice

Truth is

Your favorite toy
Dancing for you everyday
The satiny dress on your ballroom princess
Swaying to the sound of piano keys
Stinging the room with rhythmic severity
Like an airy dragonfly
Captivated by the earnestness of the wind
You believe it is a never ending magic
Perhaps a gift from your father
On a Christmas eve
Then it stops so suddenly
You know you have been betrayed
By the batteries and imperfections
Hidden beneath the porcelain glow
And over the imminent months
As the head falls off
And the arms break in two
You lose a little faith
In the magic of it all