What I Am To You

you want to forget me, brush me aside like some thing that you have no use of,
like a broken comb
or a shampoo wrapper
or a used toothpaste, and for all the other reasons that you may conceive

i perfectly understand it
the words we use shall tell exactly what logic wants us to portray
a broken monument
shattered pieces of glass
a stone thrown away
a used clothing where my smell may shout a very sweet memory
of us

a perfume that someone sprayed on the body
a body
a hand
a nose

lips and face and caressing fingers, the fate of all these shall lie
on the judgment of the brain

we tell them to go away we tell them to hide themselves
to forget
but look at them
they all refuse
they are still you and forgetting seems to be illogical

they have become some parts of you
and destroying them has become impossible

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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