The Jealousy of a Cheeseburger Wrapper

From the steam of calloused fingertips,

my outsides, 

my ruby checkered squares,

will be rapidly pulled back and disclosed.

Choose your perceptions of them,

whether they be ordinary, junky, 

or just a waste.

The tainted surface, I suppose, no one cares for,

as it becomes a non-edible barrier to

the gushy insides.

When stripped from exteriors,

the object of affection is revealed,

and complete, devote Honesty 

(and yummy goodness) 

hastily grin back. 

I’ve found I cannot be angered 

over what is placed within me;

Whether it is a burger cooked too little,

or too much.

Or a heart,

that has been exposed too little,

or just a little too much.

Yet try,

try to pretend you care not what I contain,

for if you do you my shame will be divulged; 

I am not content remaining a simplistic wrapper,

forever envious of the glorious tempest of human skin.