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 fear nobody will come with me as I start down a difficult path
Dogs, cats and children remind me of all the joy in small things
Why do I suffer deep alienation when I fear I’m misunderstood?
We can’t have real freedom without also allowing discrimination
Tribal hatreds around me mean detour on road to personal peace
Jesse Jackson Jr. demands Obama hire 15 million unemployed Americans
Trendy ‘anti-racists’ don’t realize they’ve been conned by Marxists
After man’s death, family leaves server $500 tip to fulfill his wish