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.

How long will I keep finding toxic programming from my childhood?
‘War is the health of the state’ — but the death of the people who serve it
‘The moment we begin to seek love, love begins to seek us and save us’
Please read this: If you love books and smart women, you might cry, too
‘You cannot love in moderation’; lukewarm love’s worse than none
Partisans defend every kind of evil when it’s done by their own allies
Does the ocean offer the best chance of escaping the state?
After last month’s weight freakout, something’s shifted in my attitude
Love & Hope — Episode 8: