Trigger warning: This poem contains details about sexual abuse and harassment, which maybe triggering to survivors.
I am seated on the arms of this chair,
This chair has become my safe haven,
I calculate the distance from the dining table,
Away from him,
Away from gaze,
Away from his unsolicited touch.
Maybe if my chair is far enough, I won’t hear the words falling out of his mouth.
Maybe if my chair is far enough, he won’t lay his hands in places I don’t want him to.
“If the speed of a train is 20 m/sec, find the speed the train in kmph,”
His lecherous gaze scrutinises my exterior whilst teaching me the nuances of algebra.
His wicked smile consumes his face,
and I’m left with nothing but a reminder that I am a failed feminist.
I knew I hated Math for a reason.
I wish my problems were limited to finding the answer to X,
I wish these feelings of failure didn’t seep into my life,
I wish I could stand up for myself like I had hoped I would,
I wish my voice didn’t shrivel as he pulled his chair closer to mine.
His hands engulf mine, and
Examine the crevices of my frame.
He whispers into my ear, “The relationship of a student and teacher is very special.”
Before his words completely fall out of his mouth,
His hands rush to grab parts of me that aren’t even fully evolved.
His hands slide inside my soul, inside my being
Ripping out my spirit as they leave,
Leaving only for some time–
Leaving a mark until the next time.
I sit there paralysed, my entire body unable to shake his hands off of me,
I can feel my brain shutting down,
I can feel my vision getting hazy.
I knew I hated Math for a reason.
Every day, every morning,
He was there right on time.
Under the guise of my mentor
He tore my existence to shreds.
I’m trying to pretend, I’m trying to forget,
But these feelings, I just can’t suppress.
I knew I hated Math for a reason.
Eesha Mani is a feminist writer with dreams of a world where all women are equal in the eyes of the society.
Featured image credit: Clker-Free-Vector-Images/Pixabay