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.

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Grief keeps reopening the door my loving mother walked out of
Love & Hope — Episode 12:
The more I understand humans, the less I really comprehend us
‘Breaking Cat News’ is amazing art and evidence of dreams come true
A president can be dictator if he claims it’s for national security
VIDEO: Dangerous ideas are the ones that change world for good
Obama channeling Heinlein’s ghost: ‘…we’ve had a run of bad luck’
Goodbye, Dagny (2004-2019)