We were your friends

We followed you,
listening,
wiping your tears
when the petty cruelties of teachers
were too much for you to bear

We knew of your loves,
what loves a middle-schooler can have,
of course,
and we relished your stories,
your knowledge

But you were afraid
afraid of our
looks,
words,
personalities,
and for your reputation

You cast us aside,
the used tissue
you showed me once
after blowing your nose in it
that fourth grade day

I had to hold my sister
as she cried

And I hate you