Being Whole (Poem)

I was missing something.
I searched my pockets,
my purse, and even sought to
burrow through my desk.
A piece of me is missing.
Was it this day I lost it
Or has it been long gone?
But what is this piece,
this fragment of my whole?
I am an incomplete jigsaw
lain on the table with a hole
where the missing piece
would perfectly fit.
This defining part
all but the last
In the mystery titled, “Self.”
But what is this
fragment of self-discovery
ready to unveil the truth
of what my heart and soul
has never told my mind.
My purpose, my passion
the answer to who I am
and who I should become.
Can all this be explained
In one tiny bit?
One missing strand?
Ahh, to find a pebble
amidst a sea of stones
that shines just for me.