Meet the oil and water of academics; language and math,

For if you ace this one then you certainly can't ace that,

You could be the jack of all trades and their master too,

And yet you wouldn't be able to solve this bittersweet hullabaloo

Who made these rules I wonder? Can I meet the headmaster?

Or do I have to read through another one of Wren's rules?

Or worse still if I had to open a book with formulae that spelt disaster,

And find the answer hidden in a book written by fools

Now what about me you ask, dear reader,

Which side of the spectrum do I lean toward?

I still don't know if I hate one and love the other,

But there's someone within stopping me from finding out; a coward

I paint words against paper for hours together,

And etch numbers on books with my feeble hands,

I read essays and measure statistics simultaneously, thinking that I'm clever,

And ready myself in this battle to take a stand

At last, I try to swallow the bitter truth,

When my marks appear before me,

For in language I score a brilliant ninety-four

While in math, a lowly thirty