I’ve never gotten into poetry.

I’m not against it, I just haven’t given it the time.

But there are two works that move me to my core, pieces of art that make me feel on levels I can’t explain.

The first is ‘The Laughing Heart’ by Charles Bukowski. This is one of the most beautifully uplifting pieces of prose I’ve ever read. It’s hard to grasp that such words were written by an alcoholic womanizer who was widely considered to be an abrasive asshole.

Clearly, there was more to him than we know.

My second favourite is from an anonymous writer.

This surprises me because it is so profound. It’s as though it was written for me — to me. The fact that I can’t find a source makes it even more mysterious. And the way it fell into my lap made it even more special.

Regardless, words have power. Where they come from isn’t necessarily important.

How they make us feel is all that matters.