Rebranding, Finally Found our Niche


This past few months my blog has been struggling with identity issues. When I started I didn’t know where to specialize. I didn’t have a brand. I wrote personal stories, poems and just anything that came to mind. I’m sure my audience were confused. Thank God I finally found my way.

I want to use this platform to inspire people to take charge of their health rather than playing spectators in this particular part of their life.

I’m going to walk you towards a healthy lifestyle with better food choices and cooking methods that reduces nutrient loss.

I will walk you through effective and easy meal planning secrets that will give you a chance to eat healthy and still work hard. For the career women, I guess this particular part will be a gem to you.

We will walk through contemporary issues like Fad diets on all sorts of lifestyle diseases, use of supplements and how to differentiate science and mare hearsay. (When it’s science, it’s real)

We will cover fun ways of eating healthy. Who said good nutrition is boring? I will show you how eating right could be fun.

Ask questions if you like.

I hope to cover all your areas of interest.

PS. Lishe bora is Swahili for Good Nutrition.

PSS. For my other readers, once in a while I will drop a poem or two, here and there. You are not completely forgotten.

Nutrition is a balanced diet!



Let’s set the world on fire because we are young, strong and wild at heart!
Let’s pack our bags and leave for places we have never been, to chase experiences we never thought existed. 
Let’s make friends with people we will never see again, a stranger for a day’s best friend.
Let’s chase setting sunsets and beautiful sunrises.


We can never be this young again.
We will not stay strong forever nor will we be this young.
We can let our wild heart wonder, let’s give our gypsy heart a chance.
We will sleep in cheap motels or the streets.
We will eat whatever comes our way.
When we both are sated with the wonders of the world, we might
settling down a chance.
It’s our chance to explore the world



Just another rumble.

Growing Up, Adulting

The greatest war I ever fought was with self.
And it’s the only war I never stood a chance of winning.
No art of war forged under the sun has devised a strategy to win war with self.
I don’t know if this battle is a blessing or a curse.
As much as winning is not an option so is quitting. 
Everyday I have to battle with the self.
Sometimes the true self come out to play, sometimes it’s the false self that is on the field and sometimes the ideal self gets a chance.
No matter who is on the battle field, it’s always unending war.
Who would have thought growing up would be this challenging?

Just another rumble.

There are days I want to soak myself in memories till it all goes bad
Then there are days I want them to be washed away.

There are days I crave your touch and your arms feel like home.
Then there are days the memory or thought of you make me wanna through up.

There are days the fates are in control and we all lack power or control over things around us .
Then there are days the gods are in control and we have freewill in spades.

Basically there are sunny days and rainy days.
There are bright days and gloomy days.
Then there’s you and me, we shouldn’t have existed in the same universe (past, present or future).

Just another rumble.

No Babies For Me

I’m very okay with adopting. I believe that every child deserves love and family. My decision not to have kids has nothing to do with avoiding responsibility or anything. I will have kids but not necessarily my own.

I’m not a big fan of babies or playing mommy,though. My feelings towards this tiny creatures is indifferent. I doubt I have maternal instincts. I don’t really know that I don’t have them, either. Kids are just that, kids.

I won’t have kids of my own for now. I could think of a million other things to chase now other than filling the world. I have a career I need to build. I have dreams I need to chase and goals to be achieved. Excuse me if babies ain’t the first thing in mind.

I’m really selfish and self absorbed. The idea of taking care of another helpless being who totally depends on me looks Like a total nightmare. The nurturing gene ain’t wired in my DNA. Not just yet. This is so clichéd but it’s the truth.

The last thing this world needs is another me. So I’m kind of doing the world a favor by not procreating. Have you met me? If you have then you totally understand. This world can only handle one piece of art at a time.

Whom are we kidding,I’m just not having kids. I don’t have a reason. And everything I just said might be bullshit. They are the lies I tell myself so I can sleep well at night. At least all those reason make sense.

Just another rumble.

How cliché of me to call you a hurricane, a turbulent ocean, and a dimming flame. Forgive me for writing about you this way, for the mask I wear in poetry are the words I long to erase. I haven’t told you, not once being brave enough to spill my art into your life in hopes you would stay. Let me put it this way, remove all metaphors. Strip you of the titles of hurricanes, oceans, and flames.

My love, I love you and now that you’ve left everything has changed and that is why you’re a hurricane, the raging ocean waves, and a flickering flame. I can’t quite forget your presence even long after you’ve gone. I can’t forget you, for the wreckage you stuck me with has only left me nostalgic for a love like yours gone lost.

Consider this my message in a bottle, hoping to ride the waves of your chaos once more with dreams of settling on shore. No matter how much I try, I still search for you… Calling for you to come back to me like two lovers lost at sea. You were once my everything, now nothing. You are the remains of memories, metaphors, and clichés. I can’t recover from the wreckage, my love too deep and rooted. This is my message for you, please carry it safely from the sea and back into your arms.

I long to taste your chaos once more.

By Sara McKown Poetry

Just another rumble.

Seven Years

You tried to hug me,I gave you a small smile and said I was fine.
You tried a hand shake,I just nodded and said I was fine.
You asked me out, I said I was busy and work was demanding.
You wanted to come to my place and I stopped picking your calls.
You asked if I was seeing someone. I laughed it off. You assumed I was single and available(I didn’t bother to explain, too much effort.)

My dear this has got nothing to do with you. I don’t know when it happened but I kind of hate Human touch. Cuddles, hugs, hand shakes, etc etc. Yesterday I threw up because someone hugged me longer than the acceptable three seconds ( its a rule, right? ). And thereafter, for the rest of the day I was nauseated. Basically, human contact makes me sick! For those close to me, I suffer through them. and good thing they don’t want cuddles and long hugs. Except my lil sis when she can’t sleep, I have no option but to hold her till she fall asleep. That doesn’t count as too much contact, don’t you think?

How did I get here? Maybe I was manhandled or was the touch just too rough that my brain treated it as abuse.
Maybe someone’s touch left me too sore that I can’t stand one more hand on my skin. It hurts so bad.
Maybe someone hands had knives and every touch left wounds. Wounds that need time to close up.

Maybe someone did this to me,maybe. But that’s bullshit,I did this to myself. I am the one that allowed them to touch me how as they saw fit. I can’t blame anyone for what I have become. It was all my fault that I became this pathetic thing they call a person, someone who throws up just because of a simple hug.

They said it takes seven years for your skin to shed all your skin for your renewal.
Seven years and every all my skin cells will be brand new, untouched
Seven years and like an eagle I Will be renewed.
Seven years to shed all their contamination.

I’m wondering, does it go away with the memory of their touch too? I hope so.

So my dear, if you want me so bad, wait for me. I’m not asking you to wait for a thousand years, or forever. Wait for me for seven years and I will be all yours. All my wounds would have closed up(I hope) and this soreness will be just another memory of somebody’s touch. It’s not automatic that your wait will be rewarded, though. Meet me when I’m seven years older and let’s find out. Shall we?

Just another rumble.