Drama {{shuffle}} This rag doll was a fool.

Ah yes, it's only been 15 minutes since creating this blog, and already I've had an incident.
I have two good friends here. Sri Deva and Mirabelle. Ivi (Sri Deva) has been one of my good friends for more than 3 years now. Bella (Mirabelle) I've known for 4 years, but only this year are we becoming friends.

Apparently, I was decieved. And replaced. Traded in for a newer model, tossed aside like an old rag doll, as if I had no emotions.
This newer model called so affectionatly "Belly", a mutt, french and ukranian. For God's sake, not even RUSSIAN! Calling herself russian, she is a wanna be. Me, on the other hand, I am the real deal. 100% russian. I can easily trace my roots back to the villagers that sing folk songs by the campfire, building beautifully architected wooden houses, eating home-grown fruits and vegetables from the forest they call their backyard.

Yes, I was a fool to believe I was going to be her BFForever. This is my second time being supplanted. The first time, the person who stood in for me was "just a friend" in the beggining. And of course, their friendship spiraled into a full-fledged relationship. Now that he's gone, I am her go-to plaything, just to pass the time until someone better shows up.
Yes, I was a fool to believe, the biggest fool there ever was. Now, alone in my misery, all my friends are gone, have moved on to college and jobs; they have their own life, that barely includes me.

This rag doll has no one but herself to rely on. I certainly hope she has learned her lesson after all these years of falling into the same trap. The same drama trap that has earned herself a nickname: Ivi, like the poison ivy that grows on trees, waiting for her next victim so she can spread her poison to them. The leaves so pretty, almost irrisitable to reach over and touch, and feel how soft they are. Almost irrisistable, I say, for this rag doll still has some hope of resisting, restraining herself. She still has the hope of looking inwards, and feel how soft she herself really is, the white cotton filling safely tucked away beneath rough and dull material and thickly sealed seams.
Still has hope,
Like Pandoras box.