What math does to me.

There's only 2 things in my mind right now. One that I will not mention here. And the other how much I suck at math.

I suck at math.

This post is an unfortunate result of my doing math.

I blame teachers. 

I blame my lack of attending classes like abacus and shit that teach kids who aren't old enough to spell mathematics correctly to make crazy ass calculations that I have difficulty with after 12 years of normal people math in a mater of seconds. (Please forgive the scanty use of punctuation in the previous sentence - its 11:30 and I'm not in a mood to punctuate certain sentences while being very particular about convoluting them as much as possible, the simple motive being making your reading less enjoyable. I don't really care if my motive has been achieved.. Actually I dont care about anything at this point of time. So forgive the punctuation thing or dont, see if I care) 

Back to what I was saying, I blame how the people who teach me only do the easy questions and leave the hard non-do-able ones for the dumbasses like me. 

I blame their methods of teaching - either thinking I know everything or the exact opposite, explaining tiny things that kids in 6th would know and making me feel dumber than I am. 

I blame the fact that I'm not genetically a genius.

But you know what? It's none of their faults, it's my fault. I can blame no one but myself! I dont slog as hard as I should, and whats worse? I tell myself that I work my butt off, but all in vain! Pssh such lies.

But on my part - it is frikking hard. Every time I do math, I get a huge headache and my head gets literally heated up, I start sneezing, fall asleep, get mad, and develop an insatiable need to destroy something, among other things. And I am no genius, no where close.. and I find this shit extremely difficult.

I'm done.

conclusion - I suck at math.

My first poem.

Dancing and jubilantly flying past
the happy hues through the frame;
In a blur or in squiggly lines
But always keeping their tone light,
Whizzing away through the night.

Viewed through the screen of fog
they're even more beautiful.
Time passes, my eyes stay fixed,
Seldom tearing themselves apart
from the frame, anchored to their dance.

The colours, my only companions now
diversify in rhythm and pattern -
Attempt to console a desolate soul.
All in vain for the fog holds strong
A quiet melody lost in chaotic noise.

Eventually it ends, as all good things do
The light is lost; there's no more colour.
The grey picture in the frame moves ever so slowly;
prolonging the pain and tightening the shackles
around my lungs, heart and soul.

Then the pictures halt;
the journey has ended.
My presence is acknowledged.
I exit the car leaving behind the pictures;
The colours in the frame and the memories from the past.
The fog flows free down my cheeks.