They ask me as soon as I tell them my secret. “Well what’s it like having your abuser for a teacher?”
What’s it like? Really?
It’s walking into your sixth period every day wanting to say what’s on your mind but remembering there’s a leash tied on you. It’s listening to her pretend to be kind and the only thing that’s on your mind is how much she’s the opposite. It’s staying silent, watching her flutter and laugh and joke as you choke on air that’s too thin or thick you can’t tell the difference. Actually you can’t tell anything anymore you used to be so sure of everything, now you can’t even tell what part of your teacher makes you consider forcing yourself to puke so you won’t have to walk through the door. It’s counting minutes and seconds before the school mic turns on and dismisses you from hell. You asked what it’s like? It’s like screaming in a soundproof box, while your teacher is the one who’s closing the locks