I love it!!! And i love the typewriter series! For me, longer poems are a little window into an interesting story. They allow me to understand the magic.
The ability to write the entire human experience while making it so relentlessly kindred, sometimes it feels like you’ve broken through my thick skin without my consent.
It’s the most terrifying beautiful art.
It’s like, ‘Stranger than Fiction’: narrating my life, “telling me what I've already done. Accurately, and with a better vocabulary,.”
When a beloved author has passed on, Austen or Tolstoy, Rumi or Baldwin, it’s easy to fall in love with their soul unchecked. It’s safe. I’m not sure if I want to believe the person writing these words is real. The one who lives just as we do, and then actually having the audacity to reply to the humans affected by them, it’s just too much to think there are people this grand walking among us. But then, I remember growing up with a parent who so many made into an idol, and I remember, no one is as they seem on stage. Our humanity is treasured by some and trash to others.
Our worth is weighed only by the love we give. It’s the only currency by which we gain in the giving.
And when I faced the loss of my dad I dreaded writing about it. I knew in my gut I had to. And I wrote about the pain, I wrote about the anxiety that came after it. I wrote about the tangible fears.
But I circled around the feeling of loss, of despair, of loneliness. I acknowledge the wound, and walked around it.
Out of the blue I realised that this had to be the theme of the custom poem I’ve been meaning to gift myself with. I burst into tears when I realized that.
I thought “who better to write if than the man I’ve read countless poems from? That moved me so many times?”.
And then, when I had to give you material, I had to write. Imperfect and blunt, I spilled it all out.
Having you write this made me write it out of me.
So thank you for being a conduit, for turning my random blabbering into something that I have now inked on my skin and on my mind.
Thank you for being the amazing creature you are, for your work, your words and, most of all, your heart. Thank you.
Grief is such a heavy thing that it's hard to talk about its weight and not feel crushed. And here you are, giving it wings. Wings to be something more than just pain, but to look up and see love taking flight. As a griever for so many years of my life, I appreciate this 💜
Tyler... I got your book today, it’s blowing me away! Thank you for sharing your light with us.
i love this one so much!
I love it!!! And i love the typewriter series! For me, longer poems are a little window into an interesting story. They allow me to understand the magic.
Beautiful 💖
Honest genius.
The ability to write the entire human experience while making it so relentlessly kindred, sometimes it feels like you’ve broken through my thick skin without my consent.
It’s the most terrifying beautiful art.
It’s like, ‘Stranger than Fiction’: narrating my life, “telling me what I've already done. Accurately, and with a better vocabulary,.”
When a beloved author has passed on, Austen or Tolstoy, Rumi or Baldwin, it’s easy to fall in love with their soul unchecked. It’s safe. I’m not sure if I want to believe the person writing these words is real. The one who lives just as we do, and then actually having the audacity to reply to the humans affected by them, it’s just too much to think there are people this grand walking among us. But then, I remember growing up with a parent who so many made into an idol, and I remember, no one is as they seem on stage. Our humanity is treasured by some and trash to others.
Our worth is weighed only by the love we give. It’s the only currency by which we gain in the giving.
How can I ever thank you for this?
I write to heal.
And when I faced the loss of my dad I dreaded writing about it. I knew in my gut I had to. And I wrote about the pain, I wrote about the anxiety that came after it. I wrote about the tangible fears.
But I circled around the feeling of loss, of despair, of loneliness. I acknowledge the wound, and walked around it.
Out of the blue I realised that this had to be the theme of the custom poem I’ve been meaning to gift myself with. I burst into tears when I realized that.
I thought “who better to write if than the man I’ve read countless poems from? That moved me so many times?”.
And then, when I had to give you material, I had to write. Imperfect and blunt, I spilled it all out.
Having you write this made me write it out of me.
So thank you for being a conduit, for turning my random blabbering into something that I have now inked on my skin and on my mind.
Thank you for being the amazing creature you are, for your work, your words and, most of all, your heart. Thank you.
Grief is such a heavy thing that it's hard to talk about its weight and not feel crushed. And here you are, giving it wings. Wings to be something more than just pain, but to look up and see love taking flight. As a griever for so many years of my life, I appreciate this 💜
I LOVE your audios, thank you so much for always continuing to share your thoughts and poetry. Thank you for soothing a restless mind.
This has to be one of my favorites, and I love the typewriter aspect.
Lovely, as always