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Dana
Apr 2020

I always feel too much, and

you never feel enough, like

two halves of the wrong circles

fighting to become whole.

So is this how it ends? Or we

could try and make a square.

I always care too much and

you care just the right amount,

so this one's on me.

You usually know what to say.

So we try sine and cosine.

They work. We're waves.

It's a throwaway sunset.

It's time.

The devil is dancing on

your shoulder. All the

angels are asleep on mine.

you never feel enough, like

two halves of the wrong circles

fighting to become whole.

So is this how it ends? Or we

could try and make a square.

I always care too much and

you care just the right amount,

so this one's on me.

You usually know what to say.

So we try sine and cosine.

They work. We're waves.

It's a throwaway sunset.

It's time.

The devil is dancing on

your shoulder. All the

angels are asleep on mine.

Diya
Nov 2017

I am a triangle and my heart is an angle in my life of trigonometry...

Sin,Cos and tan are in my life angled accurately....

The hypotenuse of my journey proves to be a long segment....

I will construct it with the required measurement....

The squares of sin and cos add up to one....

And the measurement of all angles of theta has just begun....

The angle opposite to my hypotenuse gonna be ninety degree ...

It gonna be for sure!! Do you agree??

Trigonometry is an art

Which is my life's part

My heart is an angle

In the trigonometrical tangle!

Sin,Cos and tan are in my life angled accurately....

The hypotenuse of my journey proves to be a long segment....

I will construct it with the required measurement....

The squares of sin and cos add up to one....

And the measurement of all angles of theta has just begun....

The angle opposite to my hypotenuse gonna be ninety degree ...

It gonna be for sure!! Do you agree??

Trigonometry is an art

Which is my life's part

My heart is an angle

In the trigonometrical tangle!

Unfortunately, The poem maybe meaningless for you...but it makes sense for me abundantly!

Amanda Stoddard
Apr 2015

You-

you have a lot on your plate

and me-

I am just pushed in next to the others

that weigh you down while you're trying to carry

a thanksgiving meal of responsibility

and at the same time not be crushed by it-

You don't like it when your food touches.

So there I am waiting at the edge of all the chaos

trying not to step over boundaries or cross the line

I am just another thing thrown onto your plate

of responsibilities.

I am a shadow.

A walking disaster.

And I try to avoid all the things

that are so ferociously trying to bring you back down-

but all I do is end up making it worse

making all your **** end up touching

so it becomes a mountain upon your shoulders

that eventually turns into a chip upon it-

you have gone concave-

you became acute when you were once so obtuse

so full of life

so 180 degrees out of everyone else's ******* box

and I closed you in.

Made you realize what you needed to make yourself small

so you could eventually fit the plate just right on your shoulders.

I try to take the weight-

try to pick it all up myself and do something to help you get through

but I just end up touching everything-

You don't like it when your food touches.

You-

you are concave in my convex world

always looking inside yourself-

always hiding away inside of the parts of yourself

I will never see because I'm too busy looking outward

to find something I can do for you.

We are trigonometry-

which is the only type of math I was ever good at in school

but I can't seem to find the right angle anymore

you are too scalene and not enough isosceles

there's no symmetry in the way you look at me-

there's too many different sides to you.

I'd like to think I've seen them all

I'd like to think I've solved what degree

every angle you feed me turns out to be-

but it seems that the angles aren't what I should be finding.

You're just a circle-

I can find your radius

but I don't have enough of you anymore

to find your circumference.

We will always be abstract.

you have a lot on your plate

and me-

I am just pushed in next to the others

that weigh you down while you're trying to carry

a thanksgiving meal of responsibility

and at the same time not be crushed by it-

You don't like it when your food touches.

So there I am waiting at the edge of all the chaos

trying not to step over boundaries or cross the line

I am just another thing thrown onto your plate

of responsibilities.

I am a shadow.

A walking disaster.

And I try to avoid all the things

that are so ferociously trying to bring you back down-

but all I do is end up making it worse

making all your **** end up touching

so it becomes a mountain upon your shoulders

that eventually turns into a chip upon it-

you have gone concave-

you became acute when you were once so obtuse

so full of life

so 180 degrees out of everyone else's ******* box

and I closed you in.

Made you realize what you needed to make yourself small

so you could eventually fit the plate just right on your shoulders.

I try to take the weight-

try to pick it all up myself and do something to help you get through

but I just end up touching everything-

You don't like it when your food touches.

You-

you are concave in my convex world

always looking inside yourself-

always hiding away inside of the parts of yourself

I will never see because I'm too busy looking outward

to find something I can do for you.

We are trigonometry-

which is the only type of math I was ever good at in school

but I can't seem to find the right angle anymore

you are too scalene and not enough isosceles

there's no symmetry in the way you look at me-

there's too many different sides to you.

I'd like to think I've seen them all

I'd like to think I've solved what degree

every angle you feed me turns out to be-

but it seems that the angles aren't what I should be finding.

You're just a circle-

I can find your radius

but I don't have enough of you anymore

to find your circumference.

We will always be abstract.

this is odd, but I like some of it so I decided to post it. blah.

Mrs Ashley Somebody
Nov 2014

Your love is algebra

I can't find the formula

If I could find the right calculator,

I could define your euphoria.

Your love is geometry

I can't find the angles

If I could prove your theories,

It wouldn't be a shambles.

Your love is trigonometry

I can't figure it out

If I spent an entire notebook, perhaps

I'd still have doubts.

Your love is a mystery

Just as the greatest math

Although worth much,

Seems irrelevant to my path.

I can't find the formula

If I could find the right calculator,

I could define your euphoria.

Your love is geometry

I can't find the angles

If I could prove your theories,

It wouldn't be a shambles.

Your love is trigonometry

I can't figure it out

If I spent an entire notebook, perhaps

I'd still have doubts.

Your love is a mystery

Just as the greatest math

Although worth much,

Seems irrelevant to my path.