I'm Not an Idiot! Yeah... Right?

Are You There God? Because I am Trapped.

I didn't understand a thing that Mrs. Clerk taught in math today. It didn't make sense! I only saw numbers and lines and dots. Then, they would shift around in an unknown order and turn into another number. I went home and I asked my dad to help, because he's the best with math. In fact, he's an accountant at Suntrust. He's very proud that he was able to get the job, what with Indian stereotypes and all. But, when I asked him, he was dismayed to find how bad I was at computing the "simple" equations. His plain disappointment soon elevated to an anger, as I continued to be confused. Then, I noticed that he had started drawing out simple elementary number problems. That's when I started crying. He was treating me as if I was an idiot just because I didn't get one little pebble of concept in the glacier of math. He only stared at me and told me, "Stop crying, I'm only trying to help you." Of course, that only prompted me to cry even harder. I know that he's trying to help me. I get that. But, listen. I am the assumed smartest student in all of my classes. Because I'm from India. I have the highest average. I am not an idiot.
Did I mention that this whole scene was over one problem? I told him that I didn't completely understand her teachings that day in class, and he took that as a request to check the answers of the whole sheet. Turns out I had had some sort of an understanding of Mrs. Clark's teaching, as I had configured all of the problems right except for one, which was caused by a simple mistake. But he took it as if I had completely misunderstood something else we hadn't even covered in class. Expectantly, whatever he was lecturing me about through the problem I understood after a second glance, I had no idea of. But instead of understanding why I was absolutely flummoxed, he finally slammed the worksheet down on my desk and told me, "Your main priority right now is your academics. Get your head out of the clouds. Stop that ridiculous hobby of yours. Your singing is distracting you from your schoolwork!" The feeling was dreadful, with those word simply piercing my heart, leaving a metallic aftertaste in my mouth. With his thick Indian accent, and the way he was so intensified that he was spitting. It took all my urge not to wipe my face and furrow my brows in incomprehension at his words, for that would have been disrespect.
What happened next was what hurt me the most, God. He took my lyrics that I had been working on. He took my accumulation of thoughts, hums, and tunes over a total of seven years. Now he won't give them back. It's like he has confiscated my heart, God. My only hope is that he'll take the time to read them, and change the way he feels about this. I know that in his mind, he did what he believed You would have wanted him to. He did what he thought was best for me. He did it out of his love.
Just... Why doesn't it feel like it?

I'm Trapped