jennifer

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TypeTitleAuthorRepliesLast updated
StoryThe first unsullied snowdrop Mark Heathcote114 years 12 months ago
StoryWould you? Firebird514 years 12 months ago
StoryDaughter Hal 9000114 years 12 months ago
Story5 Senses beautiful oblivion114 years 12 months ago
StoryThe Ocean, The Wind beautiful oblivion314 years 12 months ago
StoryGraduation? threeleafshamrock315 years 3 weeks ago
StoryWedding Snap! threeleafshamrock1315 years 3 weeks ago
StoryThe River threeleafshamrock1015 years 3 weeks ago
StoryLove, Dies Not! threeleafshamrock715 years 3 weeks ago
StoryFirst Impressions I.P. threeleafshamrock515 years 3 weeks ago
StoryA Red Dress and A Park Bench threeleafshamrock2315 years 3 weeks ago
StoryScattered Seeds threeleafshamrock1115 years 3 weeks ago
StoryThree Monkeys (WW2) threeleafshamrock1215 years 3 weeks ago
StoryIT'S ALL AN ACCIDENT!!!!! jfunt215 years 1 month ago
StoryA Minute of Your Time Ewan415 years 1 month ago
StoryI want to be one of those poets gristo415 years 3 months ago
StoryTHE WORLD BE CRYIN; CHRISTMASSSSSS???? jfunt215 years 3 months ago
StoryA Big Kiss and a Thankyou To ALL of You Cavalcader615 years 3 months ago
StoryMAUVE SANDALS True Cavalcader515 years 3 months ago
StoryWe Are The Ones Dan-The-Man315 years 4 months ago
StoryEchoes jennifer615 years 4 months ago
StorySundown threeleafshamrock215 years 5 months ago
StoryThe British are coming! gristo415 years 5 months ago
StoryMan on a stick muzzy_starr215 years 6 months ago
StoryWhat the fuck God? pinda515 years 6 months ago

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My stories

Cherry

Whose Ark?

Inspired by a Postsecret card.
Cherry

Escape Root

Escape Root (22nd January, 2009, 2.25pm) Today is sponsored by overtired SAD and the high squeals of the black-clad birds of prey; I pray on my own time,

Desperate Times Cannot Be Measured

That angels are not the result of artifice, But rather the product of desperation.

Postscript

Another mindspill of short prose from the poet....
Cherry

Confession (Exam Tension)

Confession (Exam Tension) (14th January, 2009, 10.18am) In my hand, I hold no stamp of greatness, Just my purple marking pen; I sit in the exam room, nervous for them,

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