Dreams
It's a dimensional issue.
A condition know only as the inability to focus, on my math teacher working her hocous pocous, of congressional lines, variables, and integers. Not know how she works that magic of hers, making numbers = slopes, and finding the uranium isotopes. While I'm lost in who knows where, dancing around in nothing but my underwear. Thinkin about some gumdrops and lollipops, but that don't cut it for a bitchin mathematician... now does it.
I know I'm suppose to be listening, give you the "respect" you deserve. But sometimes Mondays just aren't the days I feel like remembering your name. I close my eyes not to be blind from the world, but to block out the noise. I put on my headphones not to ignore you, but to feel. If you don't believe me, i'll prove it on your tests. Get an A, when they all getting B's cause i give a crap, you just don't C. I don't follow your standards, i don't care about what you think. I only care about what lies beyond the doors. That big wooden door that for too long has locked me in this room while you jammed your math down my throat.
All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible.
so when I be staring into space, realize i'm not lost, I'm looking for a way out of the prison, and your math Holocaust.
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