Kerry Ridgeway

Silent are the bones I destroy,

Who must wait helplessly.

While I hammer my body down

Into the "well designed look."

I keep chiselling at myself

Watch flesh drop off

Like unwanted bits of wood,

Needing to be gone so the sculpture is perfect.

Precious ivory cushions me,

Takes he brunt.

It is my armour -

Yet those who let their bones pertrude

Are more breakable.

I am good at this craft,

Taking m anger out on the sculpture

Until I create a masterpiece -

My bones cry quietly …

I turn to this craft when I have nothing

Working myself to the tired hour,

Eyes bulging with tears.

I skilfully smash, design -

My bones pain

But there isn't even a whisper ...