I can’t write poetry. I’ve tried to write it, but my efforts have always been terrible.
I can’t write music. I love music and I’m deeply moved by its magic — both words and lyrics — but I have no talent for writing songs.
I tried to write poetry and music when I was young. I even have a few samples of my attempts at verse. They’re awful but even through the awfulness of the bad art, I can feel the anguish of what I was trying to express when my pen wrote the words on paper.
For most of my life, I’ve felt a deep sense of longing. A sense of need. A panic. A fear. An emptiness that craved filling.
When I feel that — as I desperately do tonight — I feel an incredible urge to express it. My heart feels as though it’s going to explode in my chest. There’s so much I want to say — to express, to feel, to confess — and words aren’t ever enough.

New year is great time to resolve to cut toxic folks out of your life
Politicians, empires come and go; only love and nature will endure
If you allow anything to be priority over love and beauty, you’re a fool
Snapshots of hurting people and broken families, but no resolutions
I’ll make fun of your Super Bowl, but you can’t make fun of my Spock ears
We’re slowly losing our religion, but we manage to find new gods
A year after first seeing doctor about cancer, how much have I learned?