I remember the hatefulness
Resting between corridors
Watching as doors opened
Waiting to pounce, suddenly,
On someone with mousey hair
Who was studious and square.

The undercurrents ran like
Tram lines, intersecting,
Infecting others with mockery
The pulling of hair, kick on shin
I feared break with its milk stains
And so many broken bottles.

My good looks saved me the bully
As I was seen as an asset to be used
A symmetrical form unnoticed
As I hurried past the stair wells
Hoping today it would remain quiet
Today, I think of Margaret Atwood .