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.

Overconfidence in financial models will lead to ruin in coming collapse
Why does most love hurt us? Because one usually loves more
No loneliness worse than being with others, but not the right one
What if we’re more talented than our inner fears allow us to admit?
Love & Hope — Update:
Just because you have right to be rude doesn’t mean it’s justified
Why do we accept ‘one size fits all’ rules that force us to fight each other?
Anatomy of a lie: Why destroy credibility by exaggerating facts?