Whole

I see you there,

squinting at the mirror

of not good enough.

And I wonder if you know

the beautiful creases on the face of you

make up the whole.

And you think,

somehow,

that you are flawed.

Because you have been angry?

Because you have been sad?

Because you have been confused,

or not there,

or completely off the path of ‘neat and tidy’ days.

You must know this.

You are as you should be.

Here, where the path is overgrown.

Where the light is brighter and the shadows darker.

You belong here. Perfectly imperfect.

Just as you were always meant to be:

whole.