You stand before a mirror;
Here is someone you have seen a thousand times before,
And yet cannot recognize.
Here are eyes, hair, mouth, nose.
They are yours;
So, where are you?
You look around the room;
At the overflowing bookshelves, the hurriedly made bed, the small planet of homework building up on the floor;
Here are fragments of you,
little pieces of yourself
yet nothing significant.
So, where could you be?
You move to the window and gaze into the brilliant, blue sky.
A small plane flies overhead.
You see a shard of yourself there too,
quite a large one in fact;
It glitters in the sunlight.
So, why is it not what you’re looking for?
When night falls, you approach the window again.
The stars are glistening, twirling in the darkness.
There is a piece of you,
Dancing among them.
Is that not enough?
As a last resort you lie in your bed.
Faces flood your mind;
Friends, family, heroes, heroines;
Tiny slices of yourself in all of them,
But nothing whole.
So, who could you be?
Are you broken,
Scattered across the earth?
Maybe a puzzle,
Not quite finished.
You look at the poem you have written.
You look at it closely and see it is a corner piece;
You press it into the picture,
You can see it is complete.
You are here.