Billy
my hero
had crippled hands.
he was
a small man.
my hero
could not hear.
he was
my brother, so dear.
people laughed
and pointed at my hero.
" look at that monster",
"see that weirdo?"
i turned my back
and was so ashamed
for that "monster" they teased
had a name.
his name was Billy.
he was my brother.
i was only six,
but that doesn't matter.
until then,
i had never seen
through the eyes of ugly,
the eyes of mean.
those eyes were mine for that
brief moment in time.
the pain of that day was Billy's,
not mine.
i deserved
the regret
that i feel to this day.
my brother needed me and i turned away.
i never again
thought less of him.
he was my equal.
he was my friend.
years later,
with his crippled hand in mine,
i watched him take his last breathe.
i could not speak, i only wept.
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