What am I?

I lay here, discarded paper towels and bits of corrugated cardboard as my bed, my will to slip back into society sapped. With no roof above, my pockmarked skin browns in the sun.

Pulling strips of newspaper around myself, I tried to think back on the times when I had been happier--when I hadn't been so hollow--to see if I could scrounge up something of my former self.

You see, I had had a family. We were an inseparable bunch--sisters constantly bumping into each other and exchanging blows so much you'd think our parents would have sold us off to the farm.

But each scrape and bruise came from a place of love, and I cherished each scar.

A single man changed our entire life in an instant. At first, I thought I had been lucky to be chosen--my sisters, in fact, had been green with envy. But as soon as he ripped me away from my family, he changed. He became ravenous. Unconsolable. A man who lived for his voracious appetite, and not a single thing, including myself, could stop his violent hunger.

He tore through me, peeling away my self-worth bit by bit until I became nothing but skin and air. I had tried to cry out, tried to warn my family, but each cry had met his muffled grunts that demanded obedience.

After he had finished with me, he went for my sisters.

I opened my eyes.

I had survived somehow. He had taken my pride, my fullness of youth, my dignity. But stringy veins held me, and my skin, though withered, had toughed. Though I lie among refuse, I am not discarded.

One day, I will stand again.

What am I? (Answer below)

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(answer: I am a banana peel.)