In my 9th grade math class, i became a master of obtuse angles. Angles, are easy, they always work out nice, and square, and allowing me to commandeer them. In my 9th grade math class, i learned to be coy. Seated squarely across from a beautiful boy with infinite eyes and a long, pointed obtuse nose. An inability to be overt was born from the dots on his cheeks. I batted my eyes, and stuttered to silence nice, and sweet, and allowing him to commandeer me. Many days go by, and i remember upon winning his partnership my fanciful fibonacci spoke his first equation “math isn’t really my thing.” maybe it’s no coincidence that i stand before you a poet, not a mathematician.