Time and Time Again

You build me up, take me, and use me then leave me to fall apart. But, the saddest part is that I let you do it time and time again.

Deep down, I think you know that I love you. I think you deny it though, thinking that I don’t love you makes it easier for you.

Easier to text me and tell me you want to spend time with me, then completely shut me out once you’re satisfied.

Sometimes you don’t even go, though. You text me again to bail out and it hurts more than being played, because, at least when you play me, I get to spend time with you. I get to be close to you and I get to feel like you might actually care about me.

You’re not the only guy that does this. I reach out to others to try and forget you. They play me too, but it’s different than what you do. They tell me I’m beautiful, pretend to actually care, send me hearts over text, tell me they love me, then they shut me out.

You just shut me out after you use me, you don’t pretend to genuinely like me. That should make it easier, but it makes its harder.

I see you around school five days a week. Sometimes I feel like I’m invisible to you, sometimes you talk to me and we act as close friends, than somedays I feel like you purposely avoid me. I’m probably overthinking this though, I doubt I matter enough to you for you to even ignore me.

I know this is bad, but its gotten to the point that I’ve been hurt so much that I talk to multiple people at once, so that when one guy bails, there is still another one that I think cares about me.

Every time another guy plays me, it hurts. It hurts a lot. I cry… I cry for hours. Every time I think someone might genuinely like me, but then they tear me apart and cast me out, just like you do.

Every time another guy plays me, it hurts. It hurts a lot, but at least I’m not thinking about you. Thinking about you hurts even more. I know I’ll get over the other guy in a couple weeks or months depending on how much I cared, but I know no matter how many days, weeks months, years, I’ll never get over you.

I’m not an object. I’m not disposable. You cant just throw me away when you’re done. I’m not a piece of paper you can crumple up and throw away when you’re finished.

I hate what you do to me. I hate even more that I let you. And I hate the most that I’m standing here waiting, hoping, yearning for you to text me again.

 

Photo Credit: Time Magazine
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The issue with trust

‘Just trust me,’ a phrase often used in our language, but not so often meant.

Our brains work by emotion, wired for compassion, understanding, and trust. It calms us, soothes us, and controls us. Learn more here.

So let’s start at the beginning. You are a small child, and your parent promises you ice cream. You have been exited all day, but when you finally get home, they say they are too busy for something so silly as ice cream.

You are already beginning a pattern of distrust. And you get older, friends, family, strangers, everyone you know throws around this idea of a promise as a way to calm, a short-term fix for a long-term problem.

We are often told not to make promises we can’t keep, good advice, yet seemingly impossible in our community today.

“Do you promise?’ ‘Swear on your life?’ ‘Pinky Swear?’ (Which, by the way, used to mean that if the promise was broken, he who was at fault would promptly have their pinky removed.)

Well, you say, how can we fix this? The answer is not that simple. You see, our use of human emotion as leverage has been evolving for a long time.

So help me, help us.

elev8.hellobeautiful.com
elev8.hellobeautiful.com

Friends Who Last Forever

There are different types of friends, as many of you probably know. Last year, I was friends with someone who I expected to be close with for years to come. This year, we have barely talked. When I confronted her about this, she said she just didn’t care to.

It was at this point that I realized that some people, even if you might be close to them, aren’t going to stick around through everything. Looking back, I can see how she would cut me down and embarrass me in public, or make me feel bad about something. That’s not a true friend.

This year, I have been lucky to find someone who I know will stick around. Every day at lunch, we have our lunch date, almost without fail. We talk about everything that comes to mind, from boys and friends to food and sports.

She boosts my self-confidence by threatening to no longer talk to me, which of course has changed my thought process tremendously since the beginning of the year finally found my best friend.

Just Another Poem.

It’s strange, it’s different.

It’s not the same.

Yesterday, I was holding the key to my heart.

Today, I am letting the empty memories slip through my fingers.

One big mistake, buried under silence. One mistake. That’s all it took to pull that loose string, and unravel the monster within.

Lies, lies, and broken ties. Trust is gone, trust is gone.

But still, beneath it all, I don’t want to move on. It doesn’t feel right.

Moving along, following his steps, mixed feelings, uncertainty, rest.

Until.

My Passion for Volleyball

Volleyball has always been a passion of mine. I love the sound of tennis shoes scuffing against the waxed gym floor, the feeling you get when you celebrate a victory with your teammates, coming into the center of the court to cheer each other on, the release you feel when you snap that ball down onto the other side of the net, and then quickly prepare for it to come right back. I love that in volleyball, you have to always be on your toes, low and ready to play every ball. The trust and relationships that develop between you and your teammates is something truly beyond words. I cannot express the love that I have for each and every girl on my team. Volleyball is all about team work and always trusting your team mates to do their best with every ball that comes their way, but, if they make a mistake, you are right there to tell them “shake it off, we got this, good try.” I know that this sport will always be a big part of my life and i am happy to share my experience with other girls at OVS.