My boobs are on fire
Just a regular Sunday I guess.
I find myself in strange territory. I am unknown in the place I now live. I have no story, no memories, no identity.
I am new, even though I’m old.
I have history and experience, I have had a long and painful journey. And yet to the people I meet I am one dimensional.
So, I adapt to my surroundings. I add a layer or two, I change shape, I disguise myself.
And before I know it I’m in a life I don’t recognise, with too many things on the boil and I lean in too close to the flames…
And my boobs catch fire.
I manage to suffocate the flames with saucepan lids, but now I’m walking around with scorched bazookas and a bad smell.
I’m discovering the value of being known, of friends that know your ugly bits.
I’m understanding that who I am is shaped by my community, in good and bad ways.
I’m understanding that I’m not the only one with flaming knockers.
It’s exhausting really, trying to reflect a life I didn’t expect.
I should say something wise like my identity being in Christ and all that jazz but I’d rather just eye roll and find comfort in Hollywood if it’s all the same to you.
Thanks Mrs. Doubtfire, you da man.