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.