Metaphor

I like to think of my body as a house.Cellular walls covered in red. The eyeballs,windows into another dimension. I was borninto a body not of my choosing—always too something—too pale, too fragile, poor eyesight,given to illness, a poor constitution.There are cracks in this house's foundation.Weeds and wildflower seep into the basement.During rainy season, the basement floods.The water climbs the stairs. One day, I fear the water will reachthe attic, where I am holding my breath, preparing