9 Mar 2017 by Liela Casusi on Niume https://niume.com/post/278003 . Hype Favourite Shares     I was writing in my mama's womb. She said, can I please tone it down in there? You see, I had this clunky Olympia typewriter when God put me in there. "Here," He said, "keep busy!" "Write something of note." But since I had not been outside of my mama's womb yet, I didn't know what to write. Furthermore, it was gooey in there. And the darkness! My God, the darkness! I can't very well light a candle in there. My momma's gonna get singed. Not only that. I'm gonna choke in there. So, I wrote in the darkness, familiarizing myself with the QWERTY of the cool typewriter. I went where no man has gone before. How can I not? There was no material to write about. Oh, I correct myself on that one. I had my own "listening post" where I could hear my Dad's loud, blaring music for all...

First published by Melody Sim. http://www.melodysim.com/2016/12/a-letter-to-myself-year-from-now.html As with most, if not all posts on Brilliant BlogShare, there has to be something captivating in the content, which must be original. This post is refreshingly so, it has an open nieve style which enhances the narration. read and enjoy. A LETTER to MYSELF a year from now:

FIRST POSTED ON   HTTPS://THEPBSBLOG.WORDPRESS.COM I fell in love with this as soon as I started reading. I think you might do the same. Pearls Before Swine POETRY Her Skin November 9, 2015 Yecheilyah She has heard for too long now that her pores bleed the color of slave ships that chains have been seen in her smile that her skin shines like a beacon of shame sprinkled amidst Mississippi cotton fields sometimes her beauty sticks out like a diamond in the ruff they notice her and still she is only pretty for a dark skin girl Who does she think she is? being darker than a brown paper bag? The truth is that she is the color of the Goddesses a dark chocolate kiss neatly wrapped in silk want to touch her face just to see if it’s real just to see if it’ll melt underneath my fingertips Instead I’ll keep my hands to myself don’t want to be the stone responsible for the wrinkles in her skin this delicate rose petal of a woman reborn in the spring don’...

Originally POSTED ON  JUNE 3, 2015   BY  AMANDALYLE1986 Read the ORIGINAL post https://insidethelifeofmoi.wordpress.com/2015/06/03/a-letter-to-my-father/ I have included this post on Brilliant Blog share because it ENCOMPASSES everything that this blog has set out to discover, basically the most exceptional blog posts around and this post IS exceptional. 229 Dear Dad, It’s hard to believe it’s been five years since I said goodbye. The absence in my heart still yearns louder than ever. A missing piece, forever lost and irreplaceable. All that remains are memories, ever-fading and ragged around the edges. I grasp onto them with all my might, trying to savour each one, but as time trickles by like sand in an hourglass, so do the memories I have of you. Five years on, I still find it hard to look at old photographs without feeling overwhelmed by sadness. I tread cautiously through a minefield of memories in fear of setting off an explosion o...

A short story by Elizabeth Newton  Originaly published on http://elizabethnnewton.com/2015/07/01/the-vineyard/ Elizabeth Newton has (so far), published two amazing books. 'Riddle' a twisted and interwoven story about murder, betrayal and revenge in a small town. The second is ' View from the Sixth Floor: An Oswald Tale'  which is a story of “what-if's?" What if the assassination of President John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963 was a conspiracy? What if accused assassin Lee Harvey Oswald was innocent? What if....Below is one of Elisabeth's short stories, it may just give you reason to take a look at her books.  The Vineyard   My family has been producing one of the finest wines from the Carmargue region for several generations. Although we are a very small vineyard many have said our grapes are the sweetest and our wine has an indefinable “something”. Of course the distinctive color known as “grey of grey” contributes to the uniqueness of...

Every now and then a certain blog catches my eye, like this one INNOCENT THOUGHTS OF A GUILTY MAN written by David Anthony  http://davidanthony31.blogspot.co.uk/2015_06_01_archive.html As I read this I found I liked the narrative-cum-prose as I found it as enchanting as the story itself. It is for that reason I have re-blogged it here on BRILLIANT BLOG SHARE. So please feel free to post this onto your own contacts and spread the love! When she left me, she left me with this memory book A collection of happiness clothed in love I torture myself, and peek at how the memories look, She said she made it for me, for me to remember us. It sits in the bottom of my closet, All covered in dirt and clothes, And I wish that I could simply disregard it A simple task it should be, I know. And yet it stays, in the corner of dark places The picture of it reminds me of an Edgar Allen Poe Poem it was like her "Tell Tale Heart" was in the pages And I cou...

As you will no doubt see by the few posts on this blog (and the fact that there are far between) is because I am keeping the standards here very strict. Only those blogs which I find exceptional will appear here. I have known 'Rusty Rimes' as an internet 'friend' for some time. So it is with much pleasure I am posting this one today. I hope you enjoy watching and listening to Rusty's wonderful poem as much as I. You can 'follow' Rusty Rimes' on you tube http://www.youtube.com/channel/UCC7V50kyG75PNtzIgVji7TA

This is an amazing story, the rawness of pain & hurt resonate with every word. This is the true story of  A.F. Marie-Ann. I appreciate her braveness in writing this personal essay I am a rape victim. Those five words were harder to write than I thought, let alone accept the fact that it happened. To me. It’s been four long years and I am still trying to live with myself. Still trying to believe that this is what I survived, and not a movie I watched on a Sunday evening. It’s been four years and this is what happens after rape. Days felt like nights and nights felt like days. I could not differentiate between the two; everything from that point on was complete darkness. Not because I didn't want to, but because I emotionally and mentally shut myself off and, as such, the days became one big blur. I was lonelier than ever. I was trapped inside my own head. All the “what if’s” and “what could’ve been’s” I tortured myself with when I was damn sure that it...