Confessions.me.uk
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14
Well... I have not been able to write anything. see.
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Admission
The worst secret you know should be as taboo as admitting to your mum that you imagined her face when you were born, and wondered if she split.
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Under my duvet
I saw the man I might love take a sharp right out of Waitrose, with a bag of new potatoes and some half dead calla-lillies. I thought he might notice me caught like a leaf in the doorway, but he looked very busy thinking about things.
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Some sleeping
I let the long yellow light in through my window because the world is getting darker. Yerp, not the chirpiest poem!
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