Easy as it Seems

It’s so easy, unlike it seems
To let go off, the vestiges.
No matter how intrinsic, embedded.
No matter how old, impregnated.
They’re there. Superfluous.
And while, I cuss them,
They ceaselessly exist.
Within me, as a part of me.
And even if slightly, they’re who I am.
And as slightly, I am who they are.
I descend from them,
While they turn to a memory.
Yet as they suggest, they’re
Vestiges. Within me, from past.
With me, present, and perhaps
Forever, unless I let go off them.


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