He was supposed to teach me,
Instead he touched me.

What he taught me
Was to loathe me,
To silence me,
To part with me,
To create myself another self:
One untouched,
One still pure,
One still sure
That teachers teach and do not touch
Little girls, young women, lost souls...

While I was stuck alone with him in the classroom,
My other self could walk out the door
And smile,
And laugh,
And not think,
Not remember,
Just be eleven,
And twelve,
And thirteen,
And just have fun like I should have as a teen.

After the silence,
The shame,
The discomfort,
The pain,
The shame, the shame, the shame...
After the hiding and the keeping,
The not knowing, the ill feeling,
One day, finally, it came out.

And he,
(Never, ever, ever!)
He will never go out
Of where he was put at.

Let him be taught, now,
Where he is at,
The touching,
The loathing,
The silencing.
The parting,
The pain, the shame, the shame, the shame.