Simile And Metaphor In "The House On Mango Street"

My name is the Mexican records my father plays on Sunday mornings.

It's as if he let go a million moths all over the dusty furniture.

My papa's hair is like a broom.

My mother's hair...is the warm smell of bread before you bake it.

Two girls raggedy as rats live across the street.

I am in love with those two green apples you call eyes.

Until then I am a red balloon, a balloon tied to an anchor.