"Ogres are like Onions"

I'm peeling back the layers
Finding the real me
Tearing at the coverings
To find what few have seen

I'm covered in crisp gold-browns
A couple of layers or three
Each one less tough than the last
Closer to the real me

These layers have grown for ages
Fed by what others perceive
Gradually growing thicker
Hidden 'neath soil and old leaves

The closer I get to the center
The softer the layers grow
Sometimes my eyes get all watery
Sometimes I peel fast, sometimes slow

Right in the middle is where I am
The real, tender heart of me
I'm peeling away all those layers
I wonder what I'll see...