i love onions.
onions are great,
who doesn’t love onions?
they’re useful for everything
for improving the state of cuisine,
they make everything better.

when i think of onions,
i think of their ability to change life’s point of view
i think of a turning page.

after searching the market,
i found the perfect onion.
with perfect, glistening skin,
endless interesting layers,
and the taste
i knew
was unforgettable.

i tried to preserve you.
with every slice to your skin,
i’d wrap you back up.
place you in a drawer.
hide you away,
my secret.

eventually, i had to face reality.
you can’t preserve something
that was meant to perish.
your glistening skin was tarnished with scars.
your once deep layers revealed themselves…
shallow.
your “spice of life” flavor,
guess what?
it’s rotten.

now, when i think of an onion
i think of its ability to make me cry.
i think of its foul taste
that leaves regret in my mouth.

i hate onions
and all they stand for.

you’re not useful,
you’re worthless.

who wants the taste of dirt in their mouth?

you don’t make anything better.
you make things worse.
you made me worse.

i’m better off without onions.
i hate them.
i prefer broccoli anyways.