You kneel. I sit above you with my tools: a ruler, a measuring tape, a protractor. You already know what's coming. You’re not here to be praised. You’re here to be judged. Broken down. Measured by my standards, and crushed when you fail to meet them. For the entire exam, I whisper exactly what you are: small, weak, pathetic. I don’t need to yell. The sound of my ruler snapping, the tape stretching, the protractor clicking, my giggles... that’s enough to remind you of your place. You watch as I compare you to things you’ll never match. You listen as I mock every inch you wish you had. You think you're a man, but you don't even register. I don't measure your size. I measure your worth. And there isn’t any. You don’t even fill the space you're supposed to take up. You're not enough for me. You never will be. And that’s exactly why you’ll keep coming back.