selective memory





it would be so easy to walk back

but it is smarter to move on

and remember the frustration



to forget the warm of waking up

with your bare flesh warm against me

before you put a shirt on



when there was still the possibility

of yet another entanglement



nights of passion followed by mornings

of warmth never happened as much

as i would like, but i could aim

my thoughts at them and once again

i would be clinging to the all the time

i could get



instead i will remember the frustration

of how you never seemed to have much time

for nights of passion/mornings of warmth



or how you seemed

to forget about me

for a week



and, of course, the others

that took time from me

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Nicolette Van der Walt's picture

Some sadness in this poem that is written down in the disguise of frustration. The title says it all...we choose the path of our memories. And yes, we write the sadness and the anger and the pain out...writing is therapy! A poem that made me think - thanks for this!

Kind regards
Nicolette