Shea Butter Find

I have been taking better care of my hair recently due to my contact with O'Naturals- a blog by an old school mate. Its amazing what you can pick up when you rub minds with others. Well in my search for the ingredients of my new hair conditioner, I was worried about finding the main one as its something I was certain I could only find back home or in London.

Shea Butter-Ori to the locals like me.

So imagine my shock when I was on my way to my doctor's appointment when I came across the Bolton Food Festival and right on the front is a man selling...yeah you guessed right Unrefined Shea Butter! I was pleasantly shocked but I came back after my appointment, I bought the shea and after stuffing my face with free samples, I went home and mixed up my first batch of hair balm.

After spilling a lot on everything and getting the essential oil mix wrong, I can say my hair's never smelt better, looked shinier or felt softer.

Thanks Omozo

FOOLISH THINGS

Its been a while that I had come to the blog. My computer getting damaged and ill health didn't help but I'm grateful to God that I've got progress now. I have been writing , stories mainly, ramblings from a fevered brain addled with opiate based medication, so many exciting things there.

This is an old poem but one of my favourites, so I want to share it as I slowly return to the land from which I grew fat. I have found one certain truth in these past months. I write because I must; its life, air and living to me. Even when I laid down with painful bones, gnarled fingers and fevered breath. I still picked up my phone and recorded thoughts and stories and songs. It would not leave me, not give me a moment's rest until every last word had been stored for transcribing.

So as I start anew, enjoy the strains of my longing heart years ago and maybe your heart is in this place, don't despair, believe it or not, this too shall pass. You will live.

God bless x



FOOLISH THINGS

You came and conquered me

You conquered me

A strand of hair on my pillow

A note paper with scribbles

A fading picture of a romantic place

These foolish things


A half-empty cologne bottle

A broken pencil

A worn out T-shirt

A chipped glass

These foolish things


A memory, a smile

A song, a laugh

You do these things to me

These foolish things

So foolish things

Remind me of you

And conquer me

Walls

I'm still under the rage of refusal. The refusal of rape, child abuse, violence , sexual brutality. So I'm still writing.


Walls


Many envy people who live in thick walled houses

I don’t.

My thin walls let in every bump, thump and rumbadum dump but

Its nosy vocals reassure me that if I can hear them,

So can they hear me.



I used to live in a thick walled house once

It was safe, private and filled with familiar voices.

Those times were different, where seeking arms

did not meet a surprised bed or

hard floor but a beating heart.



I remember, however, a little girl who lived behind thick walls.

Evil waited for her at the bottom steps under the very last

deck of floors and took her into the hollow,

covered her frightened lips and plunged.



Every time, her lips got less frightened and

opened in gaped resignation.

Evil took again and again; walls did not protect her.

They were too thick to let through the sound of her shocked heart.



Soon evil got bold and moved from under

the darkened steps and into her walls,

underneath a sister’s nose, who, instead of offering hopes of protection,

blackmailed for adolescent wiles.



So thin walls may be flimsy, exposing, nosy and

noisy, still, they suit me fine.

For in this noise and within these walls.

I find safety in every bump, thump and rambambam gump.

For if I can hear them, then surely, happily securely,

they can hear me.