How I can’t find myself in Superstore

I’m looking for myself again.
This time I’m lost in a
SUPERSTORE.
Except the aisle numbers aren’t helping.

I’m looking at the foreign foods.
The aromas awake something dormant inside me.
I hold it in my hand.
And as its exotic nature begins to ebb away,
my skin fuses with it.
But cold fusion has never worked.
And the chemistry between us is only skin deep.
I take one more look
and recognize that it’s a part of me.
A part but not all.

I’m in the “home-grown” produce
which includes things of all shapes and colours.
I must be in here somewhere.
The smells are familiar,
comforting like the feeling of my own bed.
I feel safe standing here
in the middle of juxtaposition.
But harmony soon fades into anonymity.
(white noise)
And I feel lost, even though I belong.
I am an anomaly within an amalgamation of anomalies.
I lose myself again.

I open a box
and take one of them out.
I like the feel of it in my hand.
I like its shape.
I like its colour.
But most of all,
I like how it fits nicely with the others.
Funny, I would never have thought
that an egg
would be more accepted than me.
I guess I don’t like how the shell doesn’t fit.

This time I’m staring at a fruit.
And it stares back like a sibling.
Everything seems to match.
Our skin peels the same way.
Our organs pulse to the same blood.
But its simplicity scares me.
There is something comforting about complexity.
So out of fear,
I throw the banana away.

I continue roaming,
looking for what I need.
But pushing an empty cart
is making me lonely
ever more.