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.