Every single hair, 

Every single chip, 

Every single detail, 

 

Must be perfection. 

 

For my work is no less than that. 

I am no less than that. 

 

My pride, 

Passion, 

Dedication. 

Cannot go to waste. 

 

“You’ll be fine, you always do great”, they tell me.

I admire their ignorance. 

Unaware of all that goes on.

 

Beyond the final piece, 

Beyond the compliments, 

Beyond the grade. 

 

Did you think all of it came as magic?

 

I carve,

I engrain, 

I chisel. 

 

Sagging puffy eyebags.

Bloodshot veins that scrape at my eyes,

Engrave and etch scratches.

The currency traded for my art.

 

Her ceramic body, 

Intertwined with my signature. 

 

Something’s off. 

 

It’s repulsive. 

To say that she’s mine is unspeakable. 

Revolting. 

 

My sculpture?

She’s not-

 

“Perfect”, they say. 

Praise is not good enough.

Never good enough. 

 

My cracked lips, 

My infected cuts, 

Teeth sour, 

Rotting and rancid. 

The heavy price paid for my effort. 

 

Strands of hair pulled out, 

Leaving patches of scalp,

Raw, stinging, red. 

 

I have no time for it all. 

For she is not good enough.

 

I carve, 

I scrape, 

I gouge.

 

My work must be unflawed

Anything less?

Unacceptable. 

 

I hack, 

I slash, 

I wrench. 

 

My hands numb, 

Skin grey, dull

Cold to the touch

Covered in a grey slurry 

the blood of my work

 

Corpse-like. 

 

Blurry tools,

Spiralling vision,

In a dream-state. 

 

Jittery body, pupils widened. 

Moving, yet still 

I stare at my work.

Her. 

 

Not good enough. 

 

Cut to pieces, 

Beat up

She shrivels,

Does it hurt? 

Bruised and battered, 

Her figure curled up out of shame.  

 

“Willing to die for it?”, they ask me. 

I now know, 

What that means. 

 

For I am an obsessed artist. 

Willing to slaughter, 

Butcher,

Carve up myself.

 

All for the sake of my ever-imperfect artwork. 

Writer – Bianca Hu
Editor – Robbie Ge
Artist – Amelia Hu

–August 2024–