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.

Few people want to admit it, but our society rewards conformity
Why does most love hurt us? Because one usually loves more
Looking for truth in random noise? Or is there meaning for me in this?
Widow: ‘Things that mattered yesterday do not matter today’
FRIDAY FUNNIES
Loving father’s pride in daughter easily bridges our language gap
After 50 years of lonely pursuit and disappointment, boy finally gets girl
God may be working on what we need long before we can see it