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.

The shocking results are in: Here are the most popular posts from Year 1
Governments can recognize rights, but no government creates rights
Warning, Good Samaritans: Offering teens a ride is ‘disturbing the peace’
When will you admit that a constitution can’t control state?
Parody video: What do your cats do when you’re away from home?
Health risk and social costs make drinking alcohol a very poor risk
Photo assignment in dimly lit gym kickstarted my love for basketball
Until I can have the family I need, I’ll spend my Thanksgiving alone
My ego threatens to take over when I whisper, ‘I deserve better’