OK - I have managed to convince myself that, with the help of Ted, that this poem needs to go in a different direction - maybe employ the concepts and "jargon" of "Number Theory" buried within the text itself.

Number 2

“When One made love to Zero,
spheres embraced their arches
and prime numbers caught their breath"

Raymond Queneau

I sometimes wonder if
I’m being excessively irrational.
Here I am, in the prime of my life
with infinite possibilities ahead,
limited by only imagination, yet
confounded by the complexity of
an imperfect world

There’s something dehumanizing
about being treated like a number
a mere cog – a cipher
existence reduced to a measurement
“greatness” judged by our height
rather than how high we reach

The world belongs to those with passion
to somehow make the numbers dance
A world where each is an individual
prime numbers divisible
only by themselves.



d;-)