When physics failed me

The professor is talking about forces
on the chalkboard, but I am tired of hearing the same things,
deriving the same formulas, over and over again.

Inertia is the tendency for an object to keep moving
at the same velocity unless acted upon
by an outside force, he reminds us.

I want to ask him what makes a person stay sad,
and what outside force can stop the sadness,
but I don’t raise my hand.

If you choose a specific centripetal acceleration,
you can essentially simulate gravity,
he goes on enthusiastically.

I want to ask him what kind of acceleration
can make a depressed person feel weightless,
but I don’t raise my hand.

I get angrier and angrier the more I learn,
and the more I learn the less I care,
and the less I care the more I hate the people who do.

The equations in my notes are insufferably smug.
“We can’t explain the world to you,” they seem to be saying.
But why not, you arrogant assholes? Why not?

I used to wonder what matter is made of,
but now I just wonder what’s the matter with me.

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