#statistics
Affirmative Action' is a specious protocol.
‘Appeal to Emotion’, you've cheated us all.
Barbaric intolerance, disingenuous outcomes.
Confidently, I confirm: I wish to opt out.
Personal, quantifiable data should be referenced
to implement changes that favor quality.
Statistics are the basis of prejudice.
Forget what you thought of as
conservative or progressive.
Deliberate or not,
'Positive Discrimination' is a classic fallacy.
Discard all forms and alterations of *******
I couldn't be any clearer in my position.
Your harassment evokes my aggression.
'Affirmative Action' is a specious protocol.
‘Appeal to Emotion’, you've cheated us all.
Barbaric intolerance, disingenuous outcomes.
Confidently, I confirm: I wish to opt out.
Proposal for 'Social Inclusion'
instills that some of us
are inferior and incapable;
sans allowance from the 'privileged'
we could never compare.
By ‘helping’, you've made us helpless.
Your logic is riddled with paradoxes.
'Affirmative Action' is a specious protocol.
‘Appeal to Emotion’, you've cheated us all.
Barbaric intolerance, disingenuous outcomes.
Confidently, I confirm: I wish to opt out.
Equality is noble
but equity requires adaptation based on context.
If skewing the rules is how we choose,
we all lose.
Skeptics have credited our achievements to you
and that's not even the worst part...
confidence is in place of due insecurity
so incompetence is rampant.
Our merit shall be the sole determinant.
Apr 28
Apr 28, 2026 at 10:10 PM UTC
I am a number, a percentage, a code.
A tiny fish in a sea of percentages and tables.
What is the rate of suicide for these numbers?
What is the chance of being unhappy for these
Numbers? Numbers are the key.
It is statistically more likely for people to hate
Numbers. Numbers like me.
Mar 16
Mar 16, 2026 at 10:51 PM UTC
Reflecting on the past is hard for me,
I don't really think I made it that far
I think I did pretty great with the task of being a better me,
But you miss the lust of years ago, don't say you don't.
Rather than being a boisterous beast.
You're only statistically better than you used to be.
Feb 5, 2025
Feb 5, 2025 at 8:58 PM UTC
She, was an invaluable treasure in my heart
I, was a calculated risk she would not take
Feb 15, 2021
Feb 15, 2021 at 9:15 PM UTC
Appended streams exhume the dreams that surface in conscious guide,
As photon beams augment the seams transmitters must abide.
The quantum strings of knotted ties,
Entangling's of worlds collide,
A vortex of spiraled rings,
In scattered sets convergent glide,
The convex spacial vacuuming's, synaptic points electrified,
A hex, insatiable, stochastically adjoins frequencies over-amplified, as complex oracle valuations weight choices to decide.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 7:19 AM UTC
My concern to
The Central Bureau of Statistics (CBS)
Whenever it publishes
Updated data of
The Martyrs of love
Imagine,
What count it be?
And,
The utmost concern is,
The sensitivity and specificity
If they will include,
Me and you, or not.
Last plea to CBS,
Let it reveal
The total counts of,
The serial killers of trust,
With classified gender
So that,
There will be less sufferers
Then after.
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 3:44 AM UTC
The I'm sorry
The it's ok
The silent battle
A dummy
For anyone
Just humans made to experiment
To cut, chop, and burn
We live just to die
Of a battle that is silent
To become a statistics
The silent battle that kills
Yet few people know
I'm already dead
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 12:23 AM UTC
A week ago, you became part of the statistics called "The number of suicides of children and young adults in Slovakia". Girls aged between 0-19 years have always been the smallest part since 2011, and it happened anyway. And now I am reading your most favorite author and I can’t understand anything. You and those poems. And you aren't here in order to explain it to me, so I'm just reading and losing myself in a text that I still have maybe a chance to understand, unlike you.
I miss you, sweet dreams.
Feb 15, 2018
Feb 15, 2018 at 5:52 AM UTC
It happened to me.
Statistics.
*That is me now.
I scream and I cry
Into the depths of my pillow.*
*I had not been wearing something that showed me.
I screamed and thrashed.
I am now a*
Statistic.
*Help me.
Rid me of the memories
That play across my eyelids
Whenever my eyes close.*
*I regret every second
Of that tortured night.
And just when I thought it stopped
and the pain was gone
The real pain
Hadn't even started.*
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 9:26 AM UTC
"My daughter,
when you grow up (enough)
to be able to brandish self-sovereignty
tempered by self-discipline
I only hope that if and when you may choose
to try whatever drugs may appeal to you
you are least fortunate enough
to have access to clean ones
and a safe enough and comfortable enough environment
in which to study your interrelationship with them,
intellectually, physiologically, psychologically, spiritually, and socially,
but not necessarily in that order.
I won't tell you what to do,
but my advice is this:
Don't eat yellow snow:
don't snort yellow coke.
If you're gonna poison yourself,
poison yourself with the good ****
If you want to see whats up with something,
be certain your sample size is representative.
That's just good Science.
No one likes a false statistic
except those in power
who wish to remain in power
so maintain thy power
to wield thy freedom of choice
armed with an arsenal of personal experiences
sailing with an armada of accurate information
upon the high seas of this uncertain but certainly beautiful Life,
but be prepared to accept the consequences.
That's just responsibility.
That alone oughtta put you well ahead of the curve."
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 3:30 PM UTC
Anyway, it'd be cheaper if products didn't advertise
But, instead, they waste all that good money
to cloud our vision and stuff our ears
Just to inform in the Information Age, you think
But, really, it's to mold
Look at the Billions spent on psychologists
Don't be confused
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC
You're probably reading this from the same place I'm writing it
behind a desk
outside the box
trapped in a corporation
free in my thoughts
You're probably reading this for the same reason I'm writing it
because words matter
because it doesn't matter
the way everything matters
You're probably sick of reading
probably
yet we are hardly anything more than what can be proven
we're probably
the invention before probability
The loving likelihoods of life
like crawling before walking
like falling when learning to walk
like walking into runs
The statistics of confusion
divided for the mystical equation
of adding all things make believe
subtracting all things real
and solving you for yourself
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
Many times, we love, we are loved, we hate
and we are hated and yet we can never find
quantum proof for how much we feel what we
feel, It's left to habitual action, like It's
assumed we hug, kiss or smile as proof of love,
yet even haters can do the same since we live
in a universe where many smile with their
teeth rather than heart.
I believe a scientist somewhere's trying to
discover a way of bringing about statistical
perfection.
Even emotical pendulums, clockwise towards
happiness and Anti-clockwise towards
Melancholy have an imaginary measure hence
cannot be traced.
By and large, I think trying to quantify feelings
is a holy Grail hunt, it doesn't matter how
much, It's enough knowing you are loved or
hated, you are desired or repelled. As long as
you know, quantity doesn't matter, life is all
about the moments, not how long those
moments resonate before their wave taking a
different existence. Life is not about how many
breaths you take, but the moments that take
your breath away. It's a Game where the Goals
you score don't matter, what matters is you
play your role right.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 2:00 PM UTC
When I am in statistics I cannot focus
because the world around me is ending in my mind
slowly fading into something without meaning
until I cannot breathe and I have to leave
to go cry in the bathroom.
When I am in my statistics class I cannot focus
because there is a boy there who looks like my favorite **** star
I know what his ***** looks like
or might look like
Schrödinger's **** in a box.
I cannot help but stare at him and
picture him in gym shorts and no boxers
or cargo pants and no boxers
or just in boxers
or.
It's an uncomfortable feeling of morbid intrigue that
makes me tap my toes too fast.
I want to know him.
I want to tell him that
I love the way he smiles
and laughs and communicate s
and makes sure everyone is safe and happy.
I can only watch **** that has behind-the-scenes features.
It's comforting to know that
everyone is happy and
everything is consensual and
everyone is having fun.
I get too invested in these people, too attached -
One time I had to give up
and take a moment to breath
because I was just so overwhelmed with pride
Like a parent watching their kid graduate after all their hard work.
And that feeling is not okay.
And seeing that boy in my class is not okay,
Because I feel so proud of all he's accomplished
So when he answers a question right in class all I can think about is
When he ****** a **** on camera for the first time
And the first time he licked whipped cream off another man's *******
And it's very distracting.
When I am in statistics I cannot focus
because I start to worry that I will fail this class
and then I start to worry that I will hate my future
and then I worry about having a future in the first place,
bunching up into an unfocused, panicking, asthmatic mess.
The **** star boy is a distraction.
It's because of him that I'm passing this class.
( and in a way, a stupid, silly way,
it's because of him that I'm alive. )
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
Estimate tells us the avg. height
of a female in the U.S. is 64 inches.
This is quantitative. Unfeeling of prospect,
the numbers fascinate and baffle.
Recent estimation supposes
1500 active volcanoes on the earth of which
500 have erupted since history,
the invention of writing.
Such a short time ago.
Measuring in quantities, the earth is
4.5-4.6 billion years old.
Creatures of like sentience who never wrote about
volcanoes, the age of their earth.
Quantities hum of something borrowed.
So tight-wound, so deeply close, and yet still.
Something not ours.
Blind, free of invention.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 7:44 PM UTC
I once heard someone say
That they both tried to **** themselves
But Juliet Failed the first time
(Even though she technically just
Wanted to appear dead)
But statistically girls are more likely to
Try to **** themselves
And if you count that first time
She tried twice
And Romeo died the one and only time
Which makes sense because
Though girls are more likely to try
Guys are more likely to actually die
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 2:50 PM UTC
Statistics say
I am smarter than 95% of the people I meet
People say
Intelligence is overrated
Statistics say
I was born into a better situation than 98% of the people I meet
People say
It's not where you start it's where you finish
Statistics say
I will live longer than 94% of the people I meet
People say
Life is fragile
Statistics say
I won't fail
People say
I might
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 9:24 PM UTC
She hates that she is a woman
The putrefying weakness perceived in the curves of her body
The naivete shown in her blues
With the unintentional flutter of butterfly lashes
That refuse to meet the glances of those that pass by
The fear-- Of what?
That stereotypes are true?
She doesn't even know
And it sickens her.
She sickens herself.
She hates that she is white
The blandest vanilla
The marble statue
Somehow revered
Worshiped
Privileged
But simultaneously overlooked
Boring
Unimportant
The Caucasian mongrel
In light of the fact that her People
Have no proud history
Which she can name herself heir to
She hates that she is middle class
Not poor enough to struggle
Not rich enough to be free
Just situated dully in the middle
A footnote in the statistic
That they tell her she must use
To identify herself
She hates that her belief system
Has to be called by a name
That she has to choose
To be a part of a group
As part of her "identity"
And she is not allowed
To stand by her own integrity
She hates that she is American
The pudgy, loud-mouthed, laterally-speaking nation
The brashly jumps into conflict
Guns blazing
As its political system decays
In the stench of its overwhelming debt and corruption
But in truth
She hates
That they force her
To whittle her essence down
Into Gender, Race, Class, Religion, and Nationality
A vomit-inducing statistic
As if there was nothing more to her
Than the facts surrounding her existence
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC