Mathdatawords
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Without the filters,
I become the filter of what I want my life to be.
I don’t care who you are or what you say-
but the digits of pi mean everything to me.
Newton, Nietzsche, and da Vinci make a wonderful pi,
a Pi that I’ll eat with rhubarb and spice.
I’ll laugh and call it a tart while you
mock and call it an abomination.
Who cares about data, who cares about words?
Words are everything in the line of work;
They make my graphs alive and my art burst
They help me live and describe the wurst.
I will eat all the horns you direct at me
and laugh at their unsatisfactory texture.
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: