Table of Contents

I can recreate the world from one equation, but whenever I share it, I'm told to touch grass.

Any chair I ever sat in became an invasion, teachers couldn't bare it, I had too much sass.

My attachment style is exactly what you would expect from a blizzard baby.

Put a gun to my head over my temperament and I could see a lizard maybe.

People say the world is not out to get you, but tell my why I should believe them.

Just one unlatched door on this human zoo, then comes a tragedy to grieve men.

My best relationships are separated by the technology of a computer screen.

No peach emojis, I can disturb the ladies with the psychology of a far ruder meme.

I must to keep everyone off balance, or risk the equality of a heart felt eye to eye look.

It's not much of a challenge, one of us has to be the manager, I don't want to be the fry cook.

My time is scarce, so I bypass niceties for the advantage of Nero savagery.

I don't work out for optics, but to submerge my hour glass in zero gravity.

Students become angry when I carve my insignia in their chest like Zorro.

They question my mask, but it covers no secrets, shame, or laten sorrow.

Okay, so the jury is out on the unnecessary roughness of my pedagogy.

My class if full of self assured pupils that in my estimation are mostly dodgy.

I consider myself a man of hardy intellectual stock, yet that claim is easily proven to be far flung.

One tab is playing a woman giving a ted talk, the other is a woman tying cherry stems with her tongue.

Why are your morning prayers followed up with standoffishness and solitude?

I need the grace to deal with people that remind me of myself, and that throws off my mood.