A block of pure marble.
Untouched and all-natural
All rough edges and tiny cracks.
The artist picks up their weapons,
Razor-sharp to the touch.
In theory, designed to fix mistakes.
In practice, to chip away rarities.
No personal artistry is allowed.
And now for the attack.
Chisel her down till bones protrude,
Carve her out to reveal every arch and bend
Of her frail skeleton frame.
Scrape out every curve, every blemish,
Sculpt her cheekbones high and hollow,
Fashion her eyes like those of lifeless dolls,
Mould the mouth frozen shut.
Never mind the internal screams,
The silent pleas for rationality.
Never mind what remains of her self-worth,
Shattering against the floor, eroding away.
This is how the world works, darling.
This is what it wants to see.
We are making her pretty after all.