The key to my performance was a highlight
of many evenings locked inside a room
staring at a screen that sat before me
my eyes adjusting to the darkening gloom
Among the many sentences before me
were some so meaningless, they warped my brain
I sat there in a sort of psychic trauma
and watched as words and numbers filled the frame
Calculations, metaphors and rhetoric
mispronunciations by the score,
Binary and Algebraic connotations,
sapped my energy, and made me roar
They let me out when I had a solution
By then, I was a portion of myself
I'd calculated pi and more for many hours a day
and then the bastards left me on the shelf.
when all that I had left was
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem