Peter

Spoken word preformed for my AP Lit class.

I had a friend who thought he was a martyr.

Who felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Meant to take in all the pain of those around him.

Refusing to believe that sometimes . . . 

It's okay to be selfish.

Three years older than me,

Yet two feet shorter. 

He became my little bother.

I took care of his broken soul and shook the life back into him.

Begging.

Pleading.

For him to stop drowning his sorrows

With foul smelling bottles,

Grabbing his collar to pull him down these halls,

Or constantly reminding him that there will always be people who love him.

Until he stopped loving me

And he left.

He left.

I've heard a maximum of twelve words he spoke to me on the phone

Before tossing me to the curb.

As if graduating had meant that all ties to this place have to instantly be cut.

No more since.

No calls, no texts, he used to live two minutes down the road from me

And now I don't even know if he's alive.

People wonder why I care so much for someone who longer gives a damn.

It's because

I was the rope in the dark that guided him

But when he found his light

The hands he used to grasp this thinning wire became hedge clippers.

And sudden cuts don't go so well when using all your weight

To pull an anvil of a soul.

My martyr is now a free spirit

Who forgot the person who opened his cage

And brought the life back into his eyes.