They say the past is unimportant or
that you should let it go,
but how can it be unimportant
when I smell the Febreeze and cigarette smoke intertwining
to take me back to my childhood home
thousands of miles away?
How can it not matter when
events and people have been moulding us
since the day we were born?
How can I just let it go
when I see packaged bologna and rememeber
all the nights we ate Wonder Bread for dinner?
Yes, I will move on.
Yes, I refuse to let it hold me back.
But telling me to not acknowledge where
I came from
is like telling me to construct a high rise
but ignoring any blueprints.