Onions

I’ve never liked onions. When you peel the skin off, the smelly aroma begins to float through the air in an unorganized sort of way. 

You begin to cut them, and for some reason they still make you cry even when you’re the one suppost to be hurting them. So you cut them some more, and you cry some more, an endless process. 

Onions spend all their time making fun of you, when you should be making fun of them. After all, they too have their imperfections. Their fat and they stink. 

Onions attract flies, and soon the flies will be picking on you too, along with the onion that has nothing else to do in life. 

Onions are beings that you can never get rid of. You can spend your days peeling away their endless layers, and they would still find a way to make you feel bad about yourself. 

Onions are bullies. And as much as I’d like to throw them away, I cant. 

Mother cooks with them, and as much as I try to explain to her how horrible they really are, she will still buy them, and she will still force me to eat them. But she can never force me to like them, after all they’ve never liked me.

Author's Note

Please comment. I really enjoyed writing this piece, in which I compared onions, to bullies.