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