Wanderer 

They call me a wanderer. 

Never quite found my place 

and I’m as lost as I’ve ever been. 

Looking for signs 

like there may be one 

just for me, there never is. 

No one is talking, no one is listening, 

but everyone is and it’s all too loud. 

My mind is rush hour.

My mind is a traffic jam. 

My mind, I can’t give it a name. 

My heart was once my navigation 

until it broke. Now I’m playing it all 

by ear and I’m telling you 

turn down the bass, my core is deaf. 

I’ve tuned it all out and now 

I can’t tone it down. 

There’s a faint sound of music 

somewhere in the distance, 

but it hasn’t been my song 

and it hasn’t been my station 

for the longest time. 

I sing like I still know the words 

but I don’t. I’m only going by the rhythm 

and the way it never stops shaking me. 

-Stephanie Bennett-Henry

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