Please, check it out, and support this.

So, hey there.
I'm still writing, don't worry, but things are hard.
I've been for blood tests, and everything, but most likely my sixth form has made me depressed, so I may have to quit.
In that case, I need a back up plan, until next year.
So I'm starting a cake business (well, "business"), s you better get over there and help me out!

http://oneupcakes.blogspot.com/

It's nerdy cakes and treats and stuff. Hence the pun on cupcakes, and the Mario one-up.
Pleeeeeeeeease help me out with this.

Moar cake money =  less working money = moar poetry and cute cakes.

All my love, and I promise to keep you updated,
Tilly.

for who we are in the dark

you eyes are as black as the stars
that have gone out, and there is nothing that
we can do now, but wait
for the cold burst of morning and
the smell after the rain
.
the night is here and she is cold,
and peaceful. like a ghost she
creeps in and while
i trace the shadows on my ceiling,
you count the plasters on my fingertips
.
and maybe i should be composing
songs for you in the morning, i secretly
trace the lines of your shoulder,
when you turn to me
seeking warmth in my arms.

paper-mache bubbles

i like seahorses,

i like the way they curl and spike and

drift like underwater angels.

i drew one, once,

back before drawing was something casual and 

easy.

in that magic time when wishes come true

and if at first you don't succeed,

you try again.

i went to the library, i looked 

at books, i learned the shape and i

practised.

i drew that same seahorse over and over and over,

until it was nearly perfect.

i drew it, only once, as it was in my mind,

every line, every colour was perfect.

and it was on squared paper.

and it was pinned on a maths room wall.

and it never came home.

i never told you i loved seahorses, never

explained why i can't draw them anymore.

but there are lots of things i never knew about you.

i never knew

how you looked when you were lying,

i never even knew your handwriting.

i don't know what i'm trying to say here,

but suddenly i can see those lines again

and it seems so important 

that I know what your writing looks like.

i think you're the only one 

I'd ever try to draw

a seahorse for.

you're the only person i'd ever dare

push myself for. you're the only one

who never took me at face value.

you're the person who cut my safety line,

when i wanted it most.

now,

that line is curving in my head,

making fins and gills, and

i can almost feel it.

i'll send you a seahorse, love,

if you send me a letter.

Black spot, red spot.

We didn't always live here, love,

when I was little we had another house.

In the garden there was a bush,

a lavender bush.

Every summer the bees came and

buzzed around the flowers,

and windows.

One year, I remember, the plants

turned red and black.

We thought they were dying, but

really, they were coated

in ladybugs. The little red dots swarmed 

all over the garden,

and I loved them for it.

I asked my mum if I could keep them,

and she said no. But you know me,

I don't listen to no. I stole a 

salad bowl and I filled it with bugs.

I hid them under the lavender bush, but

it rained that night.

The next morning I checked on my

bug-pot.

The lid wasn't enough to keep the rain out,

and my ladybirds had all drowned.

I never told my mum, 

because I knew she had been right.

I didn't care about the bugs who died,

I was young. I cared because 

I didn't have them anymore.

let me just say

in the light
your skin looks like gold
at the edges

you are cool,
soft,
a gentle presence.

i am noon and you
are midnight,
my balancing piece.

uncharted waters

I lay on the water and just
breathe
gently at first, then deeper and deeper,
feeling myself rise and fall
like a balloon in the breeze,
a girl caught on a unnatural tide.

I couldn't swim before, blaming
my teacher, my father, the planetary alignment
for being out of breath,
and underwater.
Now, you make me want to learn,
to float and be with you.

My strokes are clumsy, I breathe more
chlorine than oxygen,
but I'm moving. You are so far
ahead of me, but you wait, and I catch you up.
You are moulded to the water,
more fish than boy.

My arms are weak but I don't stop.
Where I once resented the water for holding me,
your kind words, and your
gentle insistence have worn down
my resistance. I do not glide, but I move,
I turn onto my back and continue.

The water is in my throat, my lungs, my ears.
My kicks are small and my arms move lazily.
I can see the sky, shining through the windows
of the pool roof. I wait for the cold bump
of stone, that means I have reached the end,
that I have finally made good.

That night you hold me,
lust replaced by love in the heat.
I run my fingers down your spine, and
your hair smells like chlorine.
Now I can follow you anywhere you go,
land or sea or sky.

nothing's impossible. it's just not very easy.

it's too easy to be alone.
too far to walk to the door, arms
to heavy to lift,
skies to dark to see through,
hearts full of learning and pain.

we sit in planes and we
fly
to other countries and
we don't care, because
it's what we always did.

years ago, we thought the stars were gods,
and the world was four square feet.
we thought that flying
was for birds and witches
we thought we were gods.

now what do we have?
we have facts, and we hate them.
the gods are dead,
their temples rotting into the sea.
we don't care.

does nobody care, that
the sky goes on forever from blue into black
spotted and splattered with
burning balls of gas that pull in planets
and that we've broken orbit?

of course you can't fly if you stand still
and flap your arms, child.
but you can fly if you care, if you fight
and sew and jump off cliff faces,
or if you just fall asleep.

we are the dreamers, we are the children of
nothing and nothing is what drives us.
we eat ennui and we drink hopelessness and
if we could just stop thinking, for a second, together,
we could bring back the old gods, as our friends.