Immediately,
Your eyes find something else to look at,
After I tell you my pursuits
I have lost your interest

I am not preoccupied with numbers,
Or mechanics,
Or programs,
Or chemicals

What are you going to do with that?
The same old dogged question
Thinly veiled criticism
A condescending grin

Was I supposed to leave
My creativity,
My imagination,
The fire that fills me,
Behind in childhood?

Is art something to be locked away, like a madwoman in an attic?
Is it too useless?
Is it too frivolous?

Numbers,
Numbers,
Numbers...
I would rather feel.

What are you going to do with that?

Everything.