Cheating

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I sat in my chair sitting not believing what I had just heard.  Another student had just told me that you cheated on me the whole relationship and he’s pretty sure you left me for her.

I know it’s been a year and I happy in my current relationship, but for some reason, it stings a little.

Actually, it stings a lot.  I am no longer in love with you and still wonder why I ever was, but I still can’t believe it was all a game to you.  You were the first person I gave my full heart to, the person I trusted everything with, and the person I was ready to do anything for.

I wish you just told me so I didn’t find out from someone else or that you left me before you cheated because honestly, that would have hurt less.

If I would have found this out before I found my current boyfriend, I honestly don’t know how I would have been able to trust anyone again.  I am happy that I moved on and my current boyfriend taught me how much better men can be, but it stings to think about what you did and it’s going to be something I will carry with me in every relationship.

Although I am beyond happy now, I still feel that hurt and betrayal from you, like you stabbed me in the back.

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Close

Most people think nothing of getting close to someone.  They just hang out with someone and one day find themselves closer than the first day they met.  I wish I could be like that, but instead, I sit in my room alone scared of getting too close.

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It’s not that I hate everyone and I don’t want to be close to anyone.  It’s that I don’t want to lose them.  From the time I was 10 until I was about 15, I lost 9 close family members.  For a while, I couldn’t go more than 6 months without losing a family member.  Whenever a family member died, it seemed like I had just started to get close and attached to them.

For the longest time, I did not want to get close to anyone because I was nervous that they would die.  I believed I was cursed and that everyone I loved would die.

After a little, I somewhat got over that and started to get close to people without fear of them dying.  This only caused me to develop another fear.  It seemed as though most of my friends decided that I wasn’t good enough for them and would leave.

I know it’s a dumb fear I should get over and I am tryin,g that’s why I am writing it out.

tender

i knew it then and i know it now

our hands shyly intertwined

beautiful.

you played with my hair

a classic!

i knew it then and i know it now

your words so perfectly crafted, a trap i can never seem to ignore

your arms around me made me feel i was a part of you, something i had never wanted with anyone more

hands on my back

tender, something i don’t know too well

you make me go crazy

but i know me and i know that’s how it needs to be

daydreaming for hours upon hours

“i could sit with him at lunch and we could talk about music and how he wants to be a graphic designer and how i want to make a change”

but i’m okay with it like this

tender is you

learning is me

 

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A Story of Life, Death, Chickens, and Growing Up.

When I was around six years old, I remember my parents slowly walking up to me in the morning and giving me a hug. They kneeled down beside me and said in a soft, slow, sad, and apologetic voice: “I’m sorry, honey. The raccoons got Mrs. Frizzel last night.”

I sobbed for hours. I was sad for days. I made my parents have a funeral. My tears fell to the ground as we buried my dead chicken. My parents bought a chick that I raised and loved, but I still missed Mrs. Frizzel.

When I was eight, Fluffy and Ginger passed away. My parents broke the news to me in the same way. I cried the same way as I had before. I got two more chicks.

When I was twelve, my parents again approached me with the same sad tone and told me that that a couple of our chickens died in their sleep. I didn’t cry as much when they died, partially because I was old enough to understand that everything dies of old age at some point. It was much more bearable. I would be sad, but not sobbing like I had done in the past.

Today, I came home and asked if he bought food at the store. He said no. Something happened, so he had to come home. “What I happened?” I asked.

“The neighbors dog got into our yard and into the chicken coop,” he said with a flat tone.

“You stopped right, the chickens are okay?”

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“No,” he said. “They are dead, all but three are dead.” He said it with the same flat tone.

He just told me straight up, assuming I wouldn’t be sad. No soft, slow, sad, or apologetic voice. He patted my back and walked away.

I went outside. The corpses were gone. All that remained was feathers.

Eight year old me popped in to my mind. The funeral for Mrs. Frizzel. My parents stroking my back and telling me everything was going to be okay.

There would be no funeral, my dad had put their limp bodies in the trash before I came home. There would be no comfort from my parents. Fifteen year olds don’t cry when their chickens die.

I’m shouldn’t be sad. I’m too old to be sad. But, I’m sad.

I remembered holding the chickens when they were less than a week old. Moving them to the big coop when they were old enough. Hand-feeding them mealworms and celebrating the day that they laid their first egg.

I raised them. They are dead now.

If I was a child I would be sobbing in my parents arms. Now, I’m sobbing alone.

I know if I went to them they would comfort me, but there’s an age where you need to accept reality on your own.

Being treated like a child is now nonexistent. Just like my chickens.

When I was little, if I had a lot of homework, my parents would tell me I could do it and tell me I could have a cookie when I finished. Now, when I complain about my homework, they say lots of homework is part of growing up.

When I was little, my parents were by me at every moment to guide me through life. Now, I am old enough where I need to handle  things on my own.

When I was younger, my parents could fix everything. They could make everything feel better. In their arms, I was safe.

Yes, the death of my chickens is part of the reason I’m crying. But, there’s more to the tears running down my cheek.

No matter how much I want to believe it, my parents can’t fix everything. As much as I want it to, they can’t hug me and make me not be sad. As desperately as I want to deny it, my parents can’t protect me anymore.

I don’t know why all of this came from a dog breaking into my chicken coop, but it did…

Rest in peace Lucky, Trouble, Darwin, Lemon, Pepper, Oreo, and Henry.  I may not be a child anymore, but I still love you and miss you.

Him

I never would have been able to imagine someone making me this happy.  The little things he does makes me happier than anyone else’s little things has ever done.

Listening to the dumbest songs in his truck and watching him sing them and just act like a dork makes me smile so much my mouth hurts.  Just sitting next to him makes me happy.

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He does sweet, small things which add up and make me feel so happy and he is actually happy to be with me.

He always opens doors for me, picks me up, and takes me out.  He treats me with respect and takes care of me.  I almost never pay for anything myself and he just makes me incredibly happy with the conversations we have.

On Saturday, he told me that after he washed his truck, he found something weird in the mud. I never would have imagined that someone writing out prom with mud would make me so happy.

Even when I just go to his house and watch TV with his family and him, I am happy.  I love spending time with him and I love the girl’s days I have with his mom and his younger sister.

I am so lucky to be with him.  He is so sweet to me and I feel like I don’t deserve him and the way he treats me.  I haven’t felt this love and appreciation since my dad died.  It sounds weird, but he was the only person in my life who showed how much he cared about me until I met him.

I know he was hurt in the past and I hope he knows I could never do that to him.  I, also, hope that I make him feel as special and happy as he makes me.

You

I’m generally a happy person, but we all have our baggage.

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No one is completely happy and the more you pretend to be, the more miserable you will become.

We all have ups and downs, rough patches and smooth ones.

Don’t feel like you need to cast out the bad, for it will never go away if you try and push it out.

Embrace hardships. Embrace your insecurities. Embrace what you’ve been through.

Accept the bad, because acceptance is how you overcome it.

Concentrate on the good. Embrace your successes. Embrace what you’re proud of. Embrace what makes you happy. Embrace who you are.

Focus on the good because thats how you create more.

Accept the bad and embrace the good for it makes who you are,

and you…

are beautiful.

Gone

People come and go so fast. It’s almost like they’re here one day and gone the next. With a blink of an eye, a bullet is in their brain, a tumor is in their body, a rope is around their neck, lethal amounts of Codeine is in their system. You try to save them, but they’re already gone.

I beat myself up and ask over and over again: what could I have done to help you?

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Why didn’t I realize? Looking back now it seems so obvious. I could have done so much to save you.

A text? A call? A drive up to LA? Would that have kept your heart beating?

Well, here’s the answer. No, I couldn’t have saved you, even as much as I wanted too. You may have had a pulse and air going through your lungs, but you were already gone.

It comes to a point where a person is faded to a point of no recovery, no matter how much you do, the sadness inside of them can never be erased.

You can tell so much by looking in someones eyes. Looking at your most recent photos, your eyes said it all. The color, the joy, the happiness, it was gone. Now, you are gone.

I blame myself a lot.

But sometime I’m going to have to realize, no matter how much I deny it, there is nothing  I could have done.