Oh but it hurts so good. Volunteering to get stabbed with a few needles at once, to willingly sit there and bleed for over an hour, not thinking twice about having some stranger rip into your skin over and over again…..

I’ve earned it. It’s inside of me, you see. Those needles work magically..each time they enter my skin they pull out a piece of my soul. Every outline is a foundation, of a part of me, it’s like a mold; a traced sketch of something I’ve been through. Something I believe in and see then is when I realize the pain will subside and I will have an extension of me, like a heart on my sleeve, tattooed permanently.

I’m not afraid to be myself and decorate my body with windows into my soul. A walking canvas, a gallery of experiences; on display to the world. Hey! What does that mean, what does that say, who’s that, did it hurt? With each answer I get to share some of who I am. Helping you understand, that I’ve been through shit.

Carefully, like Shakespeare, I tell you what’s in a name…I get to explain that these people, my family, are now ink running through my veins. On display, it’s a conversation piece, making it easier for people to greet me and satisfy curiosity. Damn like tattoos are good for humanity?

I don’t judge how you deal with strife or how you choose to make your memories come to life. As for me, I’m a walking art collection. Comfortable in my own graffitied skin and did I mention? You, yes you my friend, are a blessing. So however you choose to shine through; remember do it as beautifully, and as everlasting, as my tattoos

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed