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.

Until you ask the right questions, you’ll never find missing answers
‘Duck Dynasty’ just another skirmish in an increasingly stupid culture war
Rational rules don’t apply when the state gives itself a monopoly
How should we react when man admits molesting own daughter?
When people push inner buttons, it’s easy to spiral down into dark
Though it’s helpful to have talent, that won’t guarantee success
Six months after her death, I like to believe Lucy is waiting for me