Poems: From the mind of the lonely

String Cheese

I got up out of bed. It's 9:27 pm. A Monday night. I only went to the first three periods this today. Why? Because my "stomach hurt". In reality, I'm tired. I'm tired of walking down these endless, eyeless Hall's. Where people only judge you, and pretend to care, but never help you and only talk to you when they need help.
I got up because I guess I'm hungry, or I'm bored. But regardless I walk into the kitchen. I look into the pan that my grandmother had baked ribs on. It's white and endless just like those halls. There are no ribs in the pan, only the crispy leftover grits. I drag my freshly manicured nails over the grits. Red, that's the color of blood. Anger too. But I'm not angry. No. That's just the color of my nails because "it's Christmas time" my grandmother told me. No it's because I needed to be normal.
Why am I eating the grits off the pan? Is it because I'm too lazy to find something to eat? Or maybe it's because I don't wanna eat. And that I think this is gonna hold me over until tomorrow. Yet I still grab 2 sting cheese. Is it because I'm afraid of starving? Probably. I like string cheese cause you can tear it off layer by layer. Yet it's still just cheese.
Me and string cheese are very similar, yet very different. Besides the obvious. Like string cheese, you can peel me layer by layer. But instead of finding cheese, you'll find years and years of abuse and issues that never seem to fully healed. Even after those layers build up and up, they never really go away. Do they? No. They sit inside until a beautiful blue eyed, brown haired boy picks up your beautifully destroyed soul and says, "open up honey, I wanna see you, all of you, every piece of you, that no one has bothered to look at because the only layer they decided to peel off was your clothing. But babygirl, I wanna see into your core. Your beautiful naked core."