Light to My Soul 

I want to give you the light to my soul 

so you can still see me 

when I’m at my darkest. 


The Greatest Lesson 

The greatest lesson I have learned is to never hide parts of myself for any reason from anyone. It is never worth it to cheat yourself. It takes years to unfold the pieces you were too ashamed to claim and when they rise back up to the surface of your true colors, holding on is still a dull struggle. #stephaniebennetthenry

Code to Crack 

There is no code to crack open the secret of life, darling. Figure out who you are and then be that person with all of your heart. Believe in yourself so much, not even the world can bend your spine into doubt. You. Always be you. Anything less is wasted time you will never get back. Please don’t ever conform into the box life will try to draw around you. Life is the box; let it imitate you. 



Hell is when I get into bed at night 

and I am alone with my thoughts. 

I put on headphones and listen to 

something beautiful, but you know 

hell doesn’t like anything beautiful. 


Between the Lines 

Between the Lines
I fall in love with people 

who read between the lines. 

The ones who actually get 

the deeper meaning 

that’s hidden everywhere. 

I adore a person who 

can listen to a song and 

not just say they love it, 

but describe the meaning 

of what they just heard 

after listening one time. 

That’s a soul you don’t 

come across often enough. 


Another Universe 

I don’t know where I belong. 
I only know wherever it is, 

it’s far away from here. 

Somewhere on the edge 

of another universe altogether, 

where my soul is never questioned 

but it is constantly answered. 


Library of Him 

His eyes are made up

of all the shattered pieces

from every person

he has ever loved.

Like a million sharp edges of broken

stained glass windows,

he could tell you the name of each one

just by looking at the color.

He could sit for hours

and tell you the story

behind each piece and why

he once loved them,

and how deep

each piece still cuts him.

There are so many stories

living in his eyes,

he could be a library

of secrets untold

and love not always returned.  

His soul runs deep,

but his heart…

that’s a different library altogether.  

It’s heavy.  

A heart that holds a bookmark

sealing every crack,

holding a place for the one

day he can’t let go of,

and the what ifs notated

like a promise to be better

next time.

The sadness in his eyes says

there won’t be a next time,

but the time will come,

and he will reach for it.

Even if it’s bursting

in flames,

he will grab it, and love it hard

the way he does.

It’s the only way he knows.

He loves with both feet in

or not at all.

There’s no in between.

His hands are black

from all the seeds he plants,

forcing a bloom

whether it’s ready or not,

and it never is.

He waters it like wishful thinking,

as reliable as a pinky promise.

He waters it on his knees

like a prayer that gets answered

every single time

as long as he doesn’t stop.

And he never stops…

even when it withers

away from being loved too much.

He kills it while loving it,

and mourns it with blame

instead of flowers.

He holds funerals at libraries

and bookmarks each

one with part of his heart

because maybe one day,

someone will check out

the book that holds his story

and find their own

missing pieces.

-Stephanie Bennett-Henry (For Jason) 💙


I guess it wasn’t really the way you said goodbye that hurt so much, but the silence of the way you never did; it changed me. 

-Stephanie Bennett-Henry ©2017

Goodbye: on Facebook


Between the Lines 

I fall in love with people who read between the lines. The ones who actually get the deeper meaning that’s hidden everywhere. I adore a person who can listen to a song and not just say they love it, but describe the meaning of what they just heard after listening one time. That’s a soul you don’t come across often enough. 

-Stephanie Bennett-Henry ©2014

Between the Lines – on Facebook #stephaniebennetthenry

Messy Flowers 

Maybe this will turn out to be nothing more than my usual rambling of random things that only make sense in the end to me, but I’m at peace with that part of myself. The flower on the wall that goes unnoticed until words pour from my throat like an awkward mess that cannot be cleaned up. So they stay there in a pile, stepped over like a crack in the concrete you avoid at all costs because you don’t want to break something already so fragile. But delicate things aren’t always a breaking waiting to happen. Sometimes the strongest souls are the ones with quiet hearts, tender feet, tiny petals blown away with one whisper from the wind. But those souls… they are the beautiful ones. The strange, low key souls looking like a tiny candle burning until someone tries to blow it out. You can’t blow out a fire like that. Because the wind comes along to collect the rubble from the pile once built from words, and the beauty from those words is scattered across the world. It spreads like wildfire, those fragile things, and that’s why we have the stars to make wishes on; it all started from an awkward flower on the wall, and words that don’t always make sense, until you pick them up and understand the beauty that once looked like nothing but a random crack wishing to be a tiny candle burning. 

-Stephanie Bennett-Henry