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.

Loving a depressed person means holding tightly on trips through hell
Little girl helped me figure out why I’m not attracted to her mom
After 50 years of lonely pursuit and disappointment, boy finally gets girl
Everybody has times when he needs someone to save his life
New information demands that I change some of what I think I am
Watching kids on a Friday night reminds me of struggle to belong
We won’t be free until politicians lose power to control the Internet
Does mainstream schooling model bring out the worst in teen-agers?
Obama channeling Heinlein’s ghost: ‘…we’ve had a run of bad luck’