Young Writers Society

[Written in paragraph form because this is how I start writing a lot...it helps me to just get the idea out first, and then from there edit as necessary, adding more, deleting, separating into stanzas, etc...might be some spelling mistakes, I haven't looked over it yet...I will once I go to edit it though...]

You have peeled me apart. I am the onion peelings, lying unraveled on your smooth, unblemished linoleum. And here is my record; four score and seven years ago is a long time to wait for justice. It's only an abstract idea, justice; that's why I've never gotten it. That's why I've spent my whole life here, to be stepped on 'neath your booted foot. Oh, Confederate, confederate! Your war-cries make me blush- like autumn. I am bleeding all over you now, and I fear the stains won't come off. Does this mean I've come of age? Oh off to war, off to war! Here, we'll bash each other upside the head with sticks to prove how masculine we are! Oh, sorry, I'm incapable of masculinity, aren't I? Damn this cruel, cruel twist of fate. Never mind, here's the cleavage! See? I told you I was onion peelings, there are layers and layers of me, none of which youreye shall ever see. This is the cleavage...I am split. I am split right down the middle, and I'm unsure of which way to go. Call me a border state, if you will, for I'm just hanging in the balance...Damn the confederates, damn the Yankees...Unions never last anyway! This is what's left of me- you have unraveled me anyway, and left me behind. You are off, fighting some war, whilst I am the onion peelings decorating your linoleum...You have gotten to the very core of me.