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.

Alternative cultures exist because mainstream culture is alienating
Love is best thing to happen to us
Chick-fil-A boycott misguided; tolerance has to run both ways
We’re often oblivious to what matters in life until it’s too late
Shock of seeing ‘Airplane!’ was realizing that I wasn’t all alone
FRIDAY FUNNIES
Predictions of doom keep failing, so isn’t it rational to doubt them?
If your own life is all messed up, lecture others about fixing theirs
Some rewards are great enough to ignore risks and take big chances