No Angst, No Regret

Every time I pick up my phone, a yellow emoji shows on my screen, a picture of us smiling, back when we were just uncontrolled teens. The deleted group chat pops up, recalling every moment that we shared, but as I sit here lonely in my room, I wonder if you actually cared. My eyes burn with the sting of tears rolling down my face. "I'm more mature," I tell myself, but growing up is no easy base. I left the chat while they asked why I decided to go, added back to the chain before my next message could even show. The last text on the screen is where I forced myself to say goodbye: A quiet, simple "I have to, guys," knowing their future sorrow was a lie. Now the anger is entirely gone, leaving only sadness in its place, as I look back and wonder why I ever wanted to run in your race. All I was was a patsy, used for popularity and a good grade, while your ranks went on to pend, built on a trick that you played. I cannot believe I fell for it, and I can't stand being used; I see your true colors now, blocking out the mental abuse. I have my new friends, I tell myself, yet the deep cut still burns. But as I lock the phone, I forget the past- because now, it is my turn for the spurns.