Human Love

Posted on May 11, 2013 by upthestairs87

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The room is dark and I don’t expect him but he comes. This stranger I know nothing about. This monster that makes my stomach turn. I move away as the darkness hides his intentions. He begins to grab at me, in places I don’t want this person to grab. I want him far away from me. I want, instead, the man I loved, this monster is no one I could ever love.

He pushes me down and engulfs me so that I am barely able to move. I can already feel myself breaking inside and out and he’s barely touched me yet.

“No.” I say. I shudder at the thought of this monster touching me, even for a moment.

He can either not hear me or chooses not to because he continues with his twisted intentions and the little pieces of human I have been desperately trying to keep together for months begin to slip away in a few, short moments. He starts to shatter them with his angry need.

I want to kick, I want to scream. I want to beg for release from his arm-like prison, but I am voiceless and can’t seem to move. He holds me captive to his hungry urges. I notice he is heavier than I thought he would be and my stomach lurches because he smells of things that only bring bad memories.

I want him off me. Now. “Please.” I whisper, trying to move his fumbling hands from my hidden places. Maybe he’ll hear me and let me go. Maybe this is all a misunderstanding. I can feel myself suffocating under the weight of his need so I push harder. The monster is stronger than I can handle. I shut my eyes tight and try to regain control again.

“Please. Please…” I whimper repeatedly as tears begin to flow freely down my ice, cold skin. I don’t like how weak he makes me feel. He puts a fear in me that goes down to my bone. I know the instant it hits my core that he has no thoughts of stopping. I am a warm body. No longer human to him. He grunts and moans and pushes my arms aside. He ignores my pathetic pleas.

“I don’t want this.” I cry, trying to get louder but feeling too ashamed. I press shaking hands against his chest. He barely notices this and his hands feel clammy as they wind around skin that’s only been touched by one I loved. I choke on tears and guilt as I try to cover parts he is clawing to uncover.

I close my eyes tight and try to remember one year ago. The one I loved held me in our bed and brushed the hair from my face while gently kissing me after whispering, “I love you,” softly in my ear. The love we made was real, pure and trusting. My body did not belong to me, it was ours to share.

My body does not belong to the beast on top of me and I don’t know why he thinks it does. I try to fight back harder with the strength of my memories buried within. Still, hands I don’t want feeling my skin touch places I haven’t given permission for them to touch. I don’t trust these hands. I don’t love these hands. I don’t want these hands to know me. They are greedy and ugly as they hurriedly grab buttons, zippers and clasps and push me away when I try to stop it.

“This is what you get for walking around like that.” The nasty voices in my head snarl as his hot breath leaves scars on my delicate skin. “You deserve this.” The voices continue making me weaker by the minute.

“I’m human. Let me go.” I moan, shifting my legs as close to me as they’ll go. “I’m me. I was loved…once. Please, don’t do this.”

When I say those words he suddenly seems to realize I’m there with him, breathing below his writhing body, so he hisses, “Be quiet, you know you’ll like this.”

“I feel like I’m dying.” I whisper back.

He no longer hears me over the greed of his lust.

There’s no fight left in me, I can feel myself giving up and I am ashamed. It hurts worse when I fight and I barely have energy for tears as he continues to take what I have not given him.

He tries to finish stealing the last bit of humanity I have left. I cry harder and plead for my release in scattered whimpers. This is the bit I have tried so hard to keep close to me this last year and he wants to take it with no remorse.

He finally resigns. He is angry because I am not giving him what he wants willingly. He tells me to leave and as I flee I am followed by a string of nasty names and words.

I am broken inside. I am shamed and full of guilt. I am humiliated. I had once tried to give everything I am to someone I loved and now a monster that I don’t even know has taken the rest. Violently and without conscience.

I no longer feel human. This is my punishment for daring to believe I could be loved.

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The Greatest Pain In The World

Posted on May 7, 2013 by upthestairs87

Window

It is is the greatest pain in the world.

Electricity flows between the two of us as we lay there, side by side but no longer skin to skin.

A wetness falls down my cheek and I think back to a time long before now, the first time, when I’d laid here in the same spot. A different kind of electric power had been shared between us. I longed then to reach out, touch him, feel him there and know that I wasn’t alone but I hadn’t been sure I was allowed. He wasn’t mine yet. I felt excitement and wonder at his warm body radiating off a heat that meant he was yearning for my touch also. There was an innocent intensity as our hands lightly brushed against the others, unsure but still desperate.

Now I lay here tonight, many nights after that first. I am still unsure but now instead of excitement there is bitterness and instead of warmth there is a coldness coming from his weary frame. He holds our blankets close to him like a shield and yet all I want to do is reach out and feel him and have him feel me back. I want to know that this could all disappear if we both want it to. That all the broken hearts and bitter words can be mended and erased if only he could feel my touch again. If only he could feel the love I have for him that is buried somewhere deep inside still. I want his body to warm me, sooth me and tell me it will all be all right again. If only.

It is an impossible dream though in the darkness of the home we share. The months that have separated us have also brought a bitter anguish that neither of us have invited and yet it has grown before our eyes. We are unable to stop it and have done little to try. Now anger slides easily from him to me because of it. I also feel anger at the pain that lay between us, and at him, because they are both keeping us at a distance that is impossible for either of us to cross. Too many hurt words have been passed between our stubborn tongues and I’m not even sure why anymore.

The bed that had once held our love and laughter as we’d rolled back and forth, planning a future we had no control over now feels like a prison I have no escape from. In the silent darkness my foot brushes his, merely by accident, and I feel him lurch away and my heart aches at the rejection of it. We share this very same moment night after night and yet both of us are cowards, unable to gather the courage to say the right words and put an end to our pointless hatred.

So for this moment, in this night, I wipe the wetness from my face and pull the blankets a little tighter. “Hold me! Love me!! Fill me in only the way you can!” I think, but really want to scream as I rub my feet together, avoiding the touch of his again. There, of course, is no response in the emptiness of our silent room. We have more in common tonight than we will ever admit and it leaves me to fall into a restless sleep with miles of empty space stretched between our wide-awake, ever beating, breaking hearts.

As we sleep, the greatest pain in the world continues to fill the spaces in between the cracks we’ve foolishly let grow.

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All We Are, We Are. And Every Day Is The Start Of Something Beautiful.

Posted on April 28, 2013 by upthestairs87

hairLook up at the sky tonight. See the blackness and feel the chill as you breathe in and out. I look up at that sky and I see you. I wonder if you see me. Will you chase me through the galaxy? Jumping from star to star, riding comets to gain speed. It’s a sea of unknown up there but I picture it to be comfortable. There’s no end and no beginning so there’s no one to tell us when and where we need to be. We control ourselves up there.

It’s too quiet down here on this earth. Too flat. Too cold. Too messy. Too lonely. Too small. There’s not enough space for all the places I want to go with you. I despise the tick of the clock and the prison it creates for the moments I get with you. Up there, we create our own time.

No more tears or heartache to stick to our skin and bones. Those feelings only tear pieces of our true selves away. In the world above we no longer have to worry about that. Why? The gravity that keeps pain grounded on this solid earth would not exist so they would all float away, before we could even feel it. Now I can feel my feet lifting off the ground, I’m ready to go will you join me? Do you want this as much as I do?

Would you want me if we lived with the stars?
Would you want me if we sailed around the planets?
Would you want me if we danced in black holes?
Would you want me if we broke the sound barrier?

I will always want you, to infinity and beyond.

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Once More

Posted on April 15, 2013 by upthestairs87

street

His screams are silent and those feel the worst. It’s a quiet hatred that cuts me to the core. As we stand on the street corner his icy, blue eyes bare into me, threatening things that can never be spoken out loud. The wind suddenly picks up and the chilly breeze reminds me that I left my jacket, along with his friends, back in the warm club that pounded with boisterous music, trying to drown out the desperation and shame in the air.

I feel the tears well up behind eyes that are mixed with confusion and love. I plead in barely a whisper, “I don’t understand, what are you doing?” I hold my hands to his chest in a desperate hope of keeping him there, keeping him close. He grits his teeth and takes a step back, I am suddenly too small, too weak and too scared to protect against whatever may come next. He looks as though he’s thinking it over, his glare never leaving my face. A shudder runs through my whole body, but it’s no longer from the bitter, night air but from the hatred that pulses from his body toward mine.

He chooses to step around me and continues to stalk off. I feel the weight of defeat in that moment. I am suddenly too tired to keep running after him. His large figure stumbles toward the fluorescent lights of the gas station ahead and I run a cold hand over my frozen, goose-bumped arm. I clutch my phone in my other hand and stare down at it. I seem to stand there, staring forever. A solitary tear finally makes its landing on the brightly lit screen and I consider dialing the number that gives me comfort and security. Home or what used to be home. “He’s supposed to be home now,” I silently chide myself. I still can’t help but picture the phone ringing and hearing the disoriented voice on the other end immediately ask what is wrong, because nobody calls for good reasons at this hour. I then picture my mother leaning over and shaking my father awake, to which I’m sure he would quickly jump out of bed and hurriedly dress to my rescue.

I brush the thought from my mind though, as quickly as it came. This isn’t the first time I’ve had it and it won’t be the last. I instead listen for the voices behind me that ring with drunken slurs of bad decisions and poor choices. I turn again and look ahead to see him in the light of the gas station, slightly swaying as he stands over an aisle, choosing a late night snack as though I wasn’t standing here, alone in the dark, with my heart breaking in two. If I chose to make that one call it would change everything. One call and this would no longer be us, this would no longer be something I could ignore. No longer would I be able to blame moments like this on him having ‘one too many.’ Everyone would know if I were to make that call, they would judge him, they would tell me to leave. I had been that friend to so many others, I know that that is what will happen if any of his or my weakness’ were to show. I’m a big girl, I can handle this.

So instead, I think hard and try to remember the mornings when he rolls over and clutches me close. Whispering words that only he can say. I try to remember the love I feel in those moments. It comes back slowly but it begins to fill me up, starting all the way down at my toes. Under the brightly lit stars I am suddenly warmed remembering his lips on mine in a way that isn’t meant to be hurtful but instead speaks of the love that is still between us. I know then that I can’t risk losing that yet.

One more night and I get one more morning with him. One more time. It won’t always be this way. One day he’ll wake up and realize he loves those mornings more than he loves these nights. One day he’ll realize he loves me more than the contents of a bottle. I wipe the tears from my face and walk over to wait for him outside. “He just needs some time alone, I pushed him too far,” I again remind/scold myself. “One more night and then it will be morning again.”

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Confession Time

Posted on April 7, 2013 by upthestairs87

ginger

I have a confession to make. I know that by doing this I will probably lose a lot of readers and possibly even friends. I’m risking this fully knowing that I will most likely be excommunicated from my family because they are heavily against this type of thing. And I know that most of you will lose a lot of respect for me but it’s something that’s been weighing heavily on my mind and I think it’s time to unload the burden.

I, Kasey, am addicted to Gingers.

I love them. I’ve tried to deny myself over the years and have maintained that my perfect man will own a luscious, thick, dark mane on the top of his head but in secret I can’t help my wandering eye that checks out every copper headed male that passes my direction. Some of you are not surprised by this admission, you’ve seen it coming over the years and while I’m sure you prayed that it was just some sort of phase I was going through, I’m here to tell you that it’s not going away. I was born this way.

Looking back I should have seen this coming. My first kiss, on the cheek, at the age of six in the tall grass at the private Christian school I attended, was with a boy named Jeremiah who had fiery, red hair that went well with the freckles that were scattered along his pale arms and face. Goodness I loved that boy, as far as any six year old can love another that is, and what drew me to him was the gorgeous red that sat atop his head. Any other boy after that in my school age years had light hair, not quite auburn, but light enough to keep my addiction fed and the questions at bay because even then I knew it was considered a problem.

I ventured back into the red zone a few years ago with my college boyfriend. By this time South Park had already branded Gingers soulless and the horror of being caught with one was damaging. So the teasing escalated quickly and I’m sure everyone thought my attraction to him was a joke, something that couldn’t possibly be true. I could see the horror and concern in their eyes and I laughed it off when we broke up stating, “At least I won’t end up with a Ginger,” I hated saying those words.  They felt bitter on my tongue. So when the most recent ex had lingers of red tint in his hair, it was pointed out immediately. I claimed publicly that it was only in his facial hair and something that could be lived with but in reality, I loved it, I wished he’d had more. I loved seeing the shiny, red tone that reflected off the sunlight when he started to let the few wisps of hair he had on his face go a few days too long. I hated the days he shaved, all that beautiful red was gone, clogging up my sink.

Any movie, television show or band that I watch or listen to I find that I’m immediately attracted to the lone Ginger in the group, because there’s never more than one (unless you’re watching Harry Potter). I can’t help it, Prince Harry, Danny Stevens, Rupert Grint, Conan O’Brien, Ed Sheeran and Eddie Redmayne who, by the way, has the perfect name for one. There’s just something about them, they draw me in and I find them irresistible. Gingers make my heart skip a beat, palms sweat and I usually stumble over my words. If you are a copper-locked male (sorry ladies) I’ve probably thought of you in your skivvies. There’s nothing in the world that compares to a good looking Ginger.

Why am I admitting this now? Because I know there are others out there, like me, that are harboring secret feelings for their red-headed peers and I want to them to know they are not alone. You don’t have to feel ashamed. It’s a perfectly natural feeling to have and I’ve seen some people live perfectly respectable lives with a red headed counterpart. The stigma may never go away but is it worth denying ourselves the beauty of red locks? I think not, especially if the rumors of their extinction hold any truth to them.

So grab your nearest red head and try it out, I promise you won’t be disappointed.

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