The re-blog fun continues! Check out Lauren Marie’s first ever interview, with Henry Maybury, a new up and coming artist with a twist. Henry set up a charity following the death of his brother, who lost his battle with alcohol addiction and all proceeds of his music goes to this charity! Check it out!
Author: Yecheilyah
Writing to restore Black historical truth through fiction, nonfiction, and poetry.
The Crick
Short, sweet, and to the point. Love the message Van. 🙂
It was the forbidden place. A small creek at the end of our unpaved alley.
Filled with all sorts of dangers, it was our second home. The parents might have known about it, and looked the other way.
There was a primitive tree house, a rope swing, a log bridge over the water. 
There were also small snakes, frogs, biting insects of all kinds, and as we learned a bit too late, poison ivy.
All that aside, it was paradise, our everyday summer destination.
The pictures shown here are very similar, but not the real thing. It did not exist, so how could there be actual photos?
It was not gender-specific, it could never be. There were too many alpha females in the hood.
There were no passwords, no secret handshakes, no rules. If you and your friends got there first, it was yours, at least for an hour or…
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What are you posting???
Stop on through and get yo shameless self-promotion on lol ; )
Open Invitation Blog Share – Reblogs
I’m in a sharing mood today. Do you have a post you’d like re-blogged? Poetry? Short Story? Promo? Attach the link in the comments section and I’ll get to it as soon as I can (rated G please). If there are any special tags you’d like to include (such as your name or the name of your blog) to help people find the post better, include them as well.
Enjoy the rest of your evening and remember, sharing is caring 🙂 lol.
( It is tho…)
– EC
The Radio
Love this! Objectification at its finest. I Love this kind of writing.
Your voice wants to be held. Close tucked into the palm of my ear and bent like crooked fingers curling, you smolder. Burnt notes crackle. You are the tip of an unfiltered cigarette. You ash where others breathe. When my hand opens, you’re caught, finger fried in the molding of what wants to be said and what slips behind. Forever binding, you fall in between the cracks of my hearing. Softer words were never said.
Call for Authors
ATTN authors! Are you publishing a book in June? Take advantage of this promotional opportunity!
The PBS Blog 