Selective Memory

Cut throat razors will remind me of you,

like cut throat words remind you of me.

I will remember yogurt scooping,

cake bringing, ice cream eating,

and messy room.

But how will you remember pushy,

on-time, omelet making,

and clean freak.

When you might be remembering

skinny dipping, house rules, nice bum,

doesn’t like chocolate,

and daddy issues.

But then again you might think I remember

socially awkward, baggy pants, always late,

big mistakes, you deserve more

and nice eyes.

What I know we know is special chocolate chip cookies,

stigmas, stahp, late night Wendy’s,

cry-laughing, medium double-double, 

and eskimo kisses.

Safety-pinned socks will remind me of you,

like safety-pinned seams remind you of me.

“Kiss me first, I won’t do it after.”
“Are you serious?”
“It’s disgusting.”

Now I find myself indulging in the same. It’s not a habit. Just a reminder that I don’t want to kiss you. You were only ever a lesson, showing me how to be all the things I never wanted to be; doing all the things I never wanted to do. All these things make me sick.