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Yasha Harkness Apr 2015
Something in us shivers
Slides up our throat
Slick
Tasting like metal, crushed rain-bugs we can almost smell
Cascading along our nerves
They are so dreadfully taut
They feel like a stranger's body
In the dark pub, in the corner
with few couples dancing to a jukebox.
thinking of strangers and strange things
Yasha Harkness Apr 2015
Tipping sideways
Deja vu strikes
You've been here before
Never this much pain
Metal and flesh
Birthed apart
Grown together
Merge line carries pain
The lightning bolt strikes
You've been here before
Familiar pain
Rippling out from the spine
The one they broke
To remove our broken heart.
i dream of a world where i wasn't fully human
Yasha Harkness Apr 2015
I do desire that we may be better strangers.
Your ill-bred humor disgusts me.
You take too many familiarities with my person.
No I am not your lady.
Nor am i, and never will be your 'darling.'
You are the wrong shape
The wrong size
The wrong class
The wrong gender.
I prefer the company of my own kind.
Leave me be.
inspired by all the Victorian novels I've been reading lately
Yasha Harkness Apr 2015
Stop trying to make me fit
In your stupid little box
of Labels and Definitions
Truth buried far beyond reach
Only your lies always
Stuffed down my throat.
If other people can come out
Why cant i?
Your reasons get flimsier
My resolve only strengthens
Your toxic opinions
Make me want to leave you behind
And escape.
I will take my freedom myself.
I don't bleed for you anymore.
the 'its just a phase' argument gets old
Yasha Harkness Apr 2015
Freeze* the pain
Let it sear its icy brand
into a corner of your mind
Throw it into the box
that holds all your broken parts
The ones no one wants to fix
Stains on your soul
You open the box just to reminisce.
To confirm the diagnosis
That you are broken in many ways
Irreparable without external help
But
How can they fix anything
*The box is shut.
i like boxes as a way of emotional control
Yasha Harkness Apr 2015
doth thy timorous voice
tremble so, faced with choice
one so simple as to be common sense
between freedom and thy abusive ex?
written in drama class
Trust
Is the
First
To rust
Before
It all
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