Whittling Away

In the corner of this attic
There's a pile of shavings
They come from a girl
Whose face is caving
Whose body is slowly being
Torn to shreds
By fists, belts, choking hands and screaming faces
The shavings are
Her innocence,
Her naivete,
Her joy and her
Ability to feel loved
By these people,
these people she's supposed to trust
These people who say I love you
As they beat here till she can't stand up
and fight back but
She doesn't want to hurt them
They're her Family
and they keep saying how much they
Love her
How could she hurt them
How can they hurt her
Time after time after time after time...

They keep carving away at her.

Pretty soon they'll
Overwork this print
They'll pick and jab at her skin till there's nothing left but
Bones and screams
She has to escape these people
who think they're shaping her her
Who think this is the
Only way she'll listen
They're not making a work of art they're just
Whittling away out of their own pain and suffering
A little discipline might make the perfect woman
But you're just striking the wood until there's
Nothing left to carve from
But a pile of shavings
In the attic corner.


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