Who I will be.

Just because I can use the system of equations to solve most situations
I never did quite figure out why I always had to ask the paper to,
"Please Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally."
For what.
Telling her father she wasn't gonna bother with the numbers
She'd rather hunger for a slumber under the stars.
She'd rather connect than count those white faraway lights.
They are guiding her.
There is no formula for fate or the way we chose to live and to live for
and I have become like an ocean shore rocking back and forth
and trying desperately to find a place to settle in.
What is my identity who am I going to be when I do finally settle
and my black ashes land soundlessly in that sea.
Who will I be.
I am no sound, no sight, no song to be sung for I am already singing
and it sounds like wrong notes but what is a wrong note
when you are always steps away from resolving.
My father wants me to be an engineer.
He says with one hand on my shoulder the other on his beer,
"Do not fear a big paycheck. You could do great things."
And I want to bring him a painting, a song, this poem just to say
"There will come a day that you'll see the great things I can do.
And the great things I am doing.
And the great things I have done.
And just because this does not align on your axis of acceptance
does not mean I do not have a point.
I am an imaginary number.
And very few rules apply to me.
I will be what I wish to be."
And at that moment I would learn
that the x's and y's were really hellos and goodbyes
And that plane could actually fly
So write me a formula for that.
And Sally, you are excused.