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.

I’m shutting the whole world out, but I’m also waiting to be rescued
The love we give abandoned animals can actually rescue us
Nelson Mandela overcame anger at oppression to become a hero
My future plans are solid, but intuition says prepare for change
Zimmerman verdict is correct, but there’s no cause for celebration
Missing someone creates intense physical sensations in my heart
‘Resisting arrest’? When police have wrongly invaded your home?
Baby girl murdered by own father is reminder to stay away from abusers
Still relevant six years later: ‘We’re the Government — and You’re Not’