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# MATHEMATICS: TRY AND CALCULATE ME

## Issue 2.3    December 2020

Mathematics: try and

calculate me. Determine

the set values of my

symmetry.

Mathematics: solve algebraically,

the coordinates forming my

parabolic anatomy.

Mathematics: prove me

try to figure out

the complexity of my

geometry.

order of operations, your

methodical foundations, and

place a definition beside

my identity.

You, derive logic from chaos, and

reason from digits,

find limits contained in one-tenth of a minute;

angles from slopes, and

side lengths from tangents.

But

perfectionist mentality,

fails to interpret the vastness of

my personality.

You, look at me

with frustration, only seeing an

unsolved equation, so

you restrict my domains, and

quantify my range, and

graph my inequality so

my values may never change, and

bound my beauty between greater than and less than;

you look at me and see someone to solve, to prove, to sketch, and

you try to classify my incongruities

by using probability to predict my inconsistencies.

You may illustrate and extrapolate,

and verify after you evaluate,

but your rational mind can’t stretch far enough

to reach

my infinity.

You, desperately try to explain,

where my parabola is on your Cartesian Plane, but

Mathematics, I

am still the unsolved variable to your

erroneous equation,

my solutions having

no constant definition.

Mathematics, my values are beautifully miscellaneous

but you just call them extraneous, because you

fail to understand that my beauty wasn’t planned.

It can’t be plotted point by point on your stern command.

Your maximums and minimums will not sway where I stand.

Mathematics, you

describe me by rearranging digits from zero to nine, but

the square of my values blows up your calculator every time.

With the real number system,

I cannot be confined.

Mathematics, you may try to

bound me in a right-angled triangle with

ninety-degree vision, and

Pythagorean precision, but

a² and b²will never equal c²

because the hypotenuse

continues,

curves

and points, telling me

that I require no proof to become an identity,

that I am unpredictable, thriving in my spontaneity,

that my beauty is too massive for you to try and

calculate me.

So mathematics,