I’m not so good at two plus two

but I know a bit about me plus you.


I know when you subtract our X factor

we suddenly aren’t so divided

over these problems that persist

in the two halves of our equations.


I know if we multiply the hatred

instead of adding up our love

we will end up on a tangent

that never returns me to your arms.


I know if I could fix my word problems

we could break down our parentheses

and factor out the obstacles

that keep us from exponential growth.


And if you divided us by zero

I would still try to solve for u.



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There’s an assortment of numbers

Hanging on the office’s wall.

Each a different person to call.

And yet they are filled with wonder.


Look at how each number can weave

It’s way through the lines of the board,

Or together become a hoard,

Asking for each of us to leave.


Yet we stay here, sitting alone,

With our hands clutching the dials.

Our mouths sound like nail files

As they beg us “please” to go home.


And it isn’t till the clock strikes five

That we will get to leave them be.

It isn’t till then that we see,

These poor numbers become alive.