June 3, 2011
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Pinned on the table, blood stained and harsh,
Ripped by the fisherman from my peaceful marsh.
There I flop, exposed and fearful,
Memories returning to the old and cheerful.
So then my eyes rise over, an object menacingly bright,
And now it wakes me from my trance, into math class with a fright.
I shake my head, turn it to see what’s on the board for me.
And so I begin, start to end, full of hostility,
Down on the page my pencil goes, torn from my meaningful prose,
Through the numbers I scan, these symbols I dose.
Excitement strikes, surely it’s right! This section won’t be a plight!
I scribble and think, never letting the calculator out of my sight.
The rules and regulations I sift, a confusing bureaucratic enterprise,
“Yes! It all clicks!” I silently cry, and proceed to the teacher, my head held up high.
“How’d you get this? Go back and try again.” She says for the third time,
So again I sit, contemplating my unknown crime.
Then I work on my math,
But truly to that unsanctioned bloodbath.
On that table I squirm, with the butcher’s cleaver held high,
I curse and cry, but his laugh is never pacified.
But why should I blame the master, his knife held so high,
Without my death surely he would die.
So now I blame not the master, but his craft,
This confusing and sadistic nature of math.

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SickImage said...
Jun. 25, 2012 at 12:33 am
Amen to that, Although...
Frustration may be an understatment ;)
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