I knew the woman at the Shopper's Drug Mart had never had her heart broken when she kicked me out of the hair aisle for slathering shampoo onto my chest for I was hoping that the suds would seep into my skin and find their way to my heart.
The label on the bottle read "anti breakage" and I just couldn't resist a try.
It didn't work however.
Possibly because the skin that stretches across my rib cage is no longer flesh, but scar tissue.
Or maybe its because I see the world in metaphors.
I am a Chinese flower *** and my cracks are full of gold.
My heart is a quilt made of mix-matched fabric of flaws and failures crudely sewn together with good intentions.
I am the paradox of the bumblebee who hurts herself way more to sting than to stay.
But I am too complicated to me a metaphor.
I am a human, flawed and fabulous, still trying to find out why I'm here and too naive to see I'll never know.