An ode to self

We thought our souls were islands,
abandoned;
waiting to be salvaged
By someone kind enough
to name them

We thought our bodies were a shrine,
deserted;
begging to be paid homage
By a pilgrim willing enough
to make the journey

We thought once ravaged,
Once our hearts were torn
from our chest and left
to writhe in the sun
We would wither
Like a rose
which only lived in longing
Until all that was left
were thorns of desolation

We thought
and we thought.
Only if
We believed
what the universe
had been telling us all along

That we were an explosion
carefully woven in the stars
A shower that broke the spell
of a harsh summer
The wind that made the buds
bloom.

That we could not be
Ravaged
And we could not be
Deserted
And we could not be
Abandoned

That on our own we were
just enough.
Perhaps more.