You Are The Only Home I Have Ever Known - Unread Typewriter Series Poem

Typewriter Series #3100

© Paul Zizka

If you enjoy this, please take two seconds to click the Heart to Like it at the bottom, and ReStack it or Share it. This really helps my work get seen by more people and helps this place grow.

I write custom poetry, did you know that? Custom for you, whomever you are, ordering from wherever you happen to live. I ask you about your story, you tell me things, you spill out details, you tell me secrets, great big love stories, sorrows you’ve carried, you tell me everything, and I listen.

Then, I sit with all you told me, I let it roll around the strange place I know of brain and thought and the little voice that I know as myself, and I let it stay, I let it linger.

Sometimes it sits minutes, sometimes hours, sometimes days and days, but eventually, Your words turn into something new, into My words, and a poem is born. I write your story in my voice, but what’s strange is, and I don’t think I’ve ever articulated this before, it’s not My voice anymore, not really. It’s you. I am you. I am one half of the love story you’ve told me about, I am them, I am the one receiving the poem, I am the one giving it, I am both? I don’t know how this happens, I just know it’s how my Autism works, I get lost inside you, your story, and it becomes mine and I write from that place.

Sometimes I am a woman, sometimes I am a man, sometimes I am genderless, sometimes I am animal, sometimes I am fear, love, hope, or such deep sorrow manifest. Sometimes I am nothing at all, just words. It’s an HONOR writing for all of you, and I absolutely treasure writing custom poetry for you. I’m still doing it, and it takes it out of me, but my goodness I love it. Today’s poem was another custom poem I wrote, after hearing such a beautiful story about a single golden larch tree on a small island in the middle of a lake, surrounded by a forest of evergreens, that were surrounded by water blue-green and fed by ancient waters. These two found this lake, this tree, and told me of it, they spoke of pain endured, of waiting, of all the years that split them apart. Somehow, those words became this poem, and they became that tree surrounded by green. Somehow.

Anyway, I am still writing custom poetry, it’s a bit on the pricey side, but only because it really does drain me completely doing this, as I get lost, completely, in your story, in your words, in your poem. If you’d like to order, here’s how:

Below is the poem and the audio version of it. A fun little perk for all those who support this place on the other side of the 14¢ a day. I love you all.

And the audio version for all you who dig that sorta thing :)t