Pretending to be Bukowski: A Poem Collection

Memories and Their Functions

Most memories will fade

Like sidewalk chalk left in the rain,

But the rest are permanent

Ready to be played back like your favorite movie.

Sometimes it's the moment you started to fall for your first love,

Or the day you met your favorite band with your best friends,

Or the time you went to a movie premiere with a friend and laughed and cried,

Or the moment you met someone you never wanted to lose.

Sometimes it's the good night ritual with your grandpa,

Or late night talks with your aunt resulting in laughter,

Or the first day of what is truly a new beginning,

Or the vacation that made you realize how important your uncle was to you.

But other times, it's the moment you painfully realize your brother isn't perfect,

Or the morning wake up call with the news that your uncle died,

Or the day when your grandma reminds you that "your mother is a fucking drug addict,"

Or the day you had a panic attack over a spilled drink and almost ruined a birthday.

Other times, it's knowing your feeling of impending doom signaled another death,

Or the hospital room your great grandma died in,

Or the first time you got less than a C grade in a class,

Or the moment you realized that true love might not really exist.

The parts that touch us the most leave a lasting impression,

Whether we want to really remember them or not.

Every detail taken in and suddenly,

Every other memory is irrelevant.

From funerals and goodbyes,

To newborn babies and new opportunities,

Ghosts make homes in our minds

And aren't afraid to show themselves to you at random intervals.

It's impossible to hide them away,

So we might as well keep them safe,

Maybe pull one or two out once in awhile,

And relive the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Whether happy or sad, small or big,

They are a part of you.

They made you into the person you are right now.

It would be a shame to ignore that, wouldn't it?

This, I think, is why humans remember things.

Our whole journey is important, so we catalog it for ourselves.

Who better to tell the story than your own brain?