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.