Tattoo – a poem about ……….
This ink on my skin tells a story about me which may not be obvious to you at first sight especially if all you see if yet ‘another tattoo’ permanently etched onto flesh as a fashion statement.
I’ll not argue with your viewpoint if you disagree that my ink is a fantastic piece of art your opinion is not important to me for this piece of art is an expression of my life.
Which to be bold and upfront, is the very core of art itself for my tattoo tells the tale of the pain and joy I have experienced and continue to evolve with.
It is a beautiful and physical reminder of the pain in life realised via the actual intrusion of needles penetrating the skin to leave their indelible marks.
This piece that adorns my arm whilst admittedly is indeed quite fashionable now reminds me at every moment I look upon it of how I was and still am in this world I cannot shape.
A form of self-abuse perhaps? could be considered if you will demonstrating more than what is obvious of my slightly fractured mindset.
Yes, I will agree to that, as enjoyment has been derived from such brutal torture that damages my tattered body.
However, there is so much worth, joy and satisfaction from enduring the sharpness of the sting of the needle which offsets the mental anguish.
Through this tattoo I am free from some of the darkness cast in my mind relaxed by the art on flesh satisfied that it will be forevermore.