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.

To unlock your heart for real love, you must embrace vulnerability
At what point does a president become a dictator to be impeached?
One college senior explains financial facts to the Wall Street protesters
Anarchist vs. minarchist debate misses the shift to post-statist world
Some Ohio State football fans believe a U.S. president has superpowers
Forced sterilization gets to heart of arrogant progressive agenda
Achievement or scam? Designer invents perfume you can’t smell
Love & Hope — Episode 13:
To become extraordinary people, we can’t behave in ordinary ways