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.

Lack of ability to think plays a role in public acceptance of higher taxes
If Ron Paul was ‘our last hope,’ what’s your backup plan now?
THE McELROY ZOO: Meet Oliver, the furball who taught me to love cats
Gay marriage debate turns into fight for validation of private beliefs
Pro-free market candidates don’t promise price targets on gasoline
Who was this attractive woman? Why did her story not ring true?
Door in my dream keeps trying to take me to the life I’ve needed
What if writing from the ‘AI me’ sounds just like I’d written it?