To the moon of my Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule,
Since parabolas, nor paradoxes, nor probability theory, nor polynomials, but slow comprehension o’er sways their grip, how with this intelligence shall admiration hold a cry, whose action is no stronger than a weak function? How shall spring break’s party breath hold out, Against the noxious fumes of finals week, when students spirit previously roused are not so sustainable, nor notebooks within binders seem so robust, but exams consumes? O terrifying study session! Where a lack of focus, shall exam’s most sacred treasure lie obscured? Or what a teacher assistant can hold his grading pen back? Or who his cheat sheet can deny? O, none, unless this revelation have might, that in my scribbles my passion may be seen.
I wrote this poem for you. It is a playoff of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 65. It is about the power of love to withstand time’s (exams) destruction. I have never written a poem for someone before.
Mostly, because I did not want to be made fun of by my friends. However, there is a certain power in writing a poem or love letter. Obviously, mine is more on the satirical nature, but we read poems and letters differently when they are about us. We read them slowly and carefully, judging each word and phrase against our self-image.
We read between the lines. We read the whole messages and the small ones. I was inspired to use this power of a love letter.
A love letter represents a beautiful connection to another person. When I take this time to write to you, it is no longer about me anymore, but I am trying to give you a better day.
The first time I saw you was during syllabus week. The entire week, I waited for you to leave class in a sudden realization that you were in the wrong class. How could you be in the right class? You were an angel placed among the darkness. You were far too gorgeous to be in this math class.
Yet, as time kept up its never-ending march forward, I saw that you were as intelligent as you are breathlessly charming. Please excuse my silence towards you. How can someone as I approach someone as bewitching as yourself? I wait for the day that your stunning face will inspire my bravery into a simple introduction. The day cannot come fast enough that I may know your real name that is not statuesque or ravishing. I wait for opportunities to talk to you, asking for help on homework or a study session for the next test.
Each time, I am weak, nervous, frightened, bashful, and afraid of rejection. How can I possibly risk your repudiation? To risk the rest of the semester in awkward doorway meetings or shoulder glances across desk. No, I have resigned my position to one of admiration and recognition.
I do not seek favor or appreciation. I only want to ask if you want to get coffee sometime. I would love to talk to you outside of class that does not involve discussing calculus. I want to know more about you and whether you have this effect on others! I reworked another poem for you. This is from EE Cummings poem, I carry your heart (personal favorite).
I carry your notebooks (heart) with me (I carry it in my backpack (heart)). You are never without it (Anyway you go I go, my fellow classmate (love), and should anything happen it is our fault). I fear that fate pulled us together (for you are my fate, my classmate in fellowship (beautiful)). I don’t want good grades (for you, fellow mate in class (dear), are my 4.0 on a 4.0 scale). It is you that whatever a Laplace Transforms have always meant and whatever the minimum of a curve will minimize to. Here is the maximum of the functional (secret) nobody knows (Here is the root of the root and the integral of the integral and curve of the curve). This is the cosmological force that’s keeping the stars apart. I carry your notebooks (heart) (I carry them in my backpack (heart)).
Yours
-Front Left Desk
