My Poem ‘Favourites’

Everyone has their likes and dislikes;
everyone has an opinion about what is the best,
even when we are a child we have our favourites-
a favourite toy we like to play with,
a favourite teddy-bear we like to carry around everywhere,
a favourite blanket that we hold onto tightly for comfort and security,
a favourite bike, a favourite colour that can equally make us feel
calm and quiet one minute, and then the next have our heart
beating fast in our chest.

Throughout our lives we grow to love things more and more,
and we can even gain a new appreciation of some things
that we always claimed wholeheartedly to always hate,
because nothing ever last forever,
and because invariably our tastes do change over time-
there are some things of brilliance and greatness
that we can discover and happen-upon late.

Our favourites are individualistic and say much about who we are
and about the life we have had and the life we live;
our favourites are what make our entire day
and can be what we think about and breath every minute;
our favourite person, our favourite song,
our favourite lesson, our favourite road
which we travel on which is never a mile too long,
our favourite book, our favourite car,
our favourite cook, our favourite drink at our favourite bar.

Our favourites are our favourites,
because they make us feel something;
our favourites are our favourites,
because they make the world feel like there is nothing missing;
our favourites are our favourites,
because they make us feel at home
even when we are far-away from what we know
as well as the back of our hand;
our favourites are our favourites,
because they are special to us
and not just another grain of sand.

My favourite book is ‘The Little Prince’;
my favourite film is ‘The Shawshank Redemption’,
or, depending on the day, ‘500 Days of Summer’;
my favourite colour is Blue;
my favourite writer is William Shakespeare,
and he has been from the moment I first read his beautiful words,
and every time I have re-read anything penned by him every day since;
my favourite song is ‘To the moon and back’ by Savage Garden,
but I also love John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’-
and to me these songs are songs that no one else
could ever truly cover;
my favourite thing to do is write,
but, if you know me already,
that would be something that you already knew.

What is my favourite now hasn’t always been,
nor should it ever be-
things are meant to change, as we are meant to change;
as we live, learn, and experience new things and see new things
we grow and change, bear fruit, and take in,
and are a person and a product of our environment, circumstance,
mood, and our emotional metamorphosis that we sometimes go through,
because of something that we feel and see.

Your favourites are your favourites, but they could also be
the favourites of someone you know,
or of someone you have yet to meet-
but who you might meet because you share the same love
and appreciation for something,
and because you bask in the light that something,
or perhaps someone, daily emits;
your favourite table, your favourite chair,
your favourite place, your favourite passion-
there is always an amazing story and an amazing reason
why something touches you, and why something, or why someone,
becomes your favourite.

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My Poem ‘Back to the Storm’

I knew this day would come,
I envisioned this moment,
I experienced brief phantoms of pain,
I anticipated the sound of my own heart breaking,
before I felt it, before it took my breath away,
and made me ache and agonize over and over, again and again-
paralyzing every part of me, from my chest to my hands,
from my legs to my brain.

There is no cure,
there is nothing that I can take to relieve me
from feeling what it is I am feeling-
I have never felt more inferior,
I have never felt more insecure,
I have never felt more like I am standing beneath
a rapidly descending ceiling.

The storm clouds have been gathering for weeks,
it was only a matter of time before the conditions were right
to electrify the atmosphere and allow tensions,
and pent-up emotions, to strike-out and reach there peak.

I feel every gust of the storm,
as if the wind were blades that could cut my skin
and could penetrate my chest all the way to my heart.
I stood at the storm’s heart, its eye, for a while
thinking that it had mistakenly passed and not left a scar.

The storm is not over yet,
it is still there effecting me, hurting me,
throwing and tossing me in every direction-
I don’t know which way is which anymore,
however I believe that is nature and life’s intention;
but now, I am taking a moment to collect myself,
and try to breath normal, and think straight while I can,
as I consider what is to come for me,
as I stand with my back to the storm.