COLLEGE FEMINISMS: Threw Me Chair – The Feminist Wire


By Hannah Seelman


              He threw me into a chair, into despair as the blood rain warm, drip drop drip down my forehead. His drunken breath twirling in my nose and stinging my eyes. The full-bellied moon of a haze watching through the window, gazes on.

              This love represents the love he feels for me, for any man as passionate as this lion must love me in order to show so much rage. I am bound to his love.

              I cower in the corner as his sharp face, a rock on a neck, gazes down. I am at his mercy, a kitten to a grinning vulture with sleek devilish wings. A sharp yellow beak contrasts with my soft whiskers; my calico feathered fur as torn as my heart.

              Please do not strike again. Please leave my spirit intact although I know you love me so. Do not inflame the chains too tight around my small body. I love the hurt, although it forever burns.

              I begged and pleaded as he grabbed my throat, air draining out as an animal’s corpse bleeds out after slaughter. His icy blue eyes lock to mine and I swear there is nothing in them. Nothing.

              I fear I may deserve the deep finger marks upon my neck, I am at fault to make such a man so upset. The bruises form as blue and purple ink upon my pale skin’s canvas. He lets go to toss my mangled body upon the floor once more to laughter. In time he leaves to pass out drunk upon the vomit scented couch.

              I must stay. I must stay with this man. I lick my wounds.

              He loves me, he loves me to show such energy of love! To demonstrate his feelings of such a way, those embers so beautiful!

              And then I hear it. He still threw me, blood ran down, wet and warm upon the white carpet. Drip drop drip. He threw me.

              Barefooted through the doorway into the dewy grass, I run. Not sure where to go or what I am seeking, but I must not stop. The frogs burp on as a drum in my heart. No more. No more. I run through a sunflower field and beyond, the moon as my guide.

              No more at last.



Seelman bio picHannah Seelman is a proud feminist at Western Michigan University, working on her spanish major and creative writing minor. She is pursuing to one day become a zookeeper and  an author. Checkout her blog at!