I found a poem once, the only one that I can remember. It goes like this:

a dark little wanderer

wondering about life

traveling in silence

looking for home again

I can't help but think it was written for me. Have you ever gotten that feeling? Ms. Smeeth says that most people have. That's exactly how I read it. I'm surprised I can even remember it. I can't remember where it was or anything. It was written by Emily Hoffman, but I've never found anything on her, and I haven't seen the poem since. Ms. Smeeth just says that it must have been a one time publish and then forgotten about.

I wish I could meet her. I've wished that for a long time. Her poem just draws me into it, you know?

Man, this is beginning to sound sappy. Ms. Smeeth says I need to continue though.

I'm wondering about that first line, does it mean dark as in evil, or dark as in skin tone? I have dark skin, but I'm not evil. Man, that poem just sounds too much like me.

You figure it out.