What to forget and remember.

I don't have amnesia.

I am perfectly aware of my weird name.

I know how to recognize what's a day,

therefore a night as well, for that matter.

I know my body parts well,

and how my teeth needs brushing,

or how I need to cut long finger nails,

so it wouldn't be hard when I'm typing.

I know everything there is to know

so I can use my eyes and inspect books

or smell of the pages all the letters

that is caught in a hook

by the worms of my thoughts.

My fantasies wander from Harry Potter to unicorns.

I know I want to watch the Kardashians, but I don't.

I know I love the kid version of Michael Jackson.

I know all Supernatural seasons.

I know I never watch in a cinema without popcorn.

I know I'm confused about the difference of geek, nerd, and dork.

I knew who I was, I was the girl reading

the faces of people, always observing,

always silent, but never attempting,

to actually start a conversation,

because I knew I'd be boring.

I knew who I was, I was the girl

fitting into clothes that blend in the world

so no one recognized I was living.

I knew I was the girl who was always falling

for the bait of boys fishing,

for naïve girls they were collecting.

I knew I was weak.

I knew I cried over simple things.

Like beauty and the beast,

or even over an X-Men movie (true story),

or Dirty Dancing.

I knew I cried when I was missing something,

or someone in particular.

I knew I have a soft spot for animals,

and I'd want them all as ninjas.

I knew I badly wished that fiction would come true

as if they were genies.

I rubbed their bottles with my wishes,

that my life was as magical

as a Disney princesses.

Until I headed straight into a crash,

as I lost control and sped to your heart,

bumping my poor head now full of your thoughts,

now all I know and am sure of is that you gave me amnesia

the first time I saw you.

When I met you I forgot how to smile,

how it was a curve upwards instead of a line.

Crippled by the earthquake whenever I tried

to tell you, hi.

I forgot how to laugh because it sounds like

I'm slaughtering a pig,

instead of a music box,

that plays your favorite song,

which I was hoping was my voice.

But I forgot how to be a tree,

standing tall instead of bending my knees

over the sweet, ripe fruit of your lips.

I forgot how to kiss.

Like I never knew candy was this sweet,

or clouds were as juicy as this.

You were that good I forgot the other boys that loved me.

I forgot how to think, or that I even have a brain,

to utilize so I can break through logic

and never speak in a language of heartbreak.

I have no idea what the word ache means,

anything lonely or tragic.

What was your name?

I forgot because I was lost in your eyes.

I forgot I was violently trespassed

so my bones are on the floor

waiting for a backbone,

to make me want to love once again.

Because I forgot that love hurts.

I forgot I was scared to try

when I told myself that was the last time.

I'll forget how the last boy

made me forget who I was.

I swear I forgot how to love myself

when I loved you.

Because the last boy who tried couldn't do it.

I forgot my heart was cursed

to always prick itself with the needles of words.

Now I only sleep with nightmares of stabbing in my back.

But you.

You made me forget I was a coward

hiding behind metaphors.

I forgot the girl

that was tortured to always feel alone.

I forgot every bad memory

as if they were coins

falling in a wishing well, easy to throw.

I forgot that thunder storms were mean.

But they were just taking picture of me,

inviting my smiles to dance in the pouring rain.

Because the sun will come out again,

and I still have time to drain in

its damp tears, knowing I can change

the ragged clothes I wore from the hands

that touched me before.

I forgot how it was to be afraid,

to hear sirens blaring in my ears

for the mistakes that

make me want to forget who I am today.

But I definitely remember how it was okay to be me.

I never forgot because you made me remember,

every moment we were together

that I should know I'm weird

but you accept all the slices of my pies,

even the rotten, spoiled goodbyes.

You gave me amnesia

but you never make me forget

that you love me, and you

do so only you'll kiss the booboos

to melt away the scars from my flaws.

So I can let it all go.

I'm fine, I can breath,

into your lungs and inhale every memory,

I wish to disappear, exhale my doubts,

free for it to circulate into thin air

where it'll evaporate the regrets

into the world knowing I'm loved

and accepted by you.

Even for the things I'd die to forget.