I remember

Playing on the swings till dark

Falsely promised to be careful when I left

Force my fingernails to pry the quarter from his fist

Wrestling her tired hands with a “thank you”

Still I lack to equate the growing receipt they never let me see

I am a product of love and care 

Added to every other relevant synonym 

But the math didn’t predict the love 

That turns into tenderness leaving you vulnerable

Liquid care solidifying to responsibility only to force pressure

Eight lines about love but you chose to focus on the last two

Consider this poem sad and hurt my feelings

But if you could pass your math class by pretending to understand

Then maybe you should just focus on the first stanza

It’s prettier anyways