Doing Math - a poem

Doing Math

When I was first taught one and one makes two
I was probably closer to four years old, not amused
with notions of numbers, and notations, equations,
my declaration was that mathematics was a tough
object to crack. And as my multiplication of life
events comes back to present me with a number
of story problems I am lost on how I carry myself
as my ones place, invades my tens place, and my hundreds
place. I am occupied that a division of who I am
is an addition problem presented by chaos theory
in that two people, my mother and father, met and created
by a number of intricacies of human genetics my existence
and I navigate the long-handed approach of complex
expression such as loving, and wanting and needing,
as my exponents are revealed to be the root value
of what I have beckoned of myself. And if my calculations
are correct I will not get the math, and for that matter
the measurements needed to perfect it. But I do know
that my order of operations, is to move to this point,
then that point, in concrete and set down rules that are unchangeable
but often I break the rules and find my answer is not along
the lines of everyone else. As red ink riddles the mysteries
of who I am, I am given the answer, and can often speak
advice for others but have taken so long to figure out
my own solutions, the value of my life which is closer
to zero, but not quite, and perhaps that is what love does
adds a variable and cancels out the faults, so that X equals
Y and that is okay. For life has never been math,
but often just as confusing.