Poets I am calling out to you?
I have a question?
Do you gain exhaustion after you write after months of bottling ink inside you?

Does it feel like a sort of tired pleasure ? A sort of burst from your inside , leaving you so drained but so pleased ?
Like an organism dripping from your soul? Does expression make you wet?

I learned
to plant the seeds
of happiness.
There are flowers
blooming
where the scars
used to be.

R.M.

Thinking about getting a tattoo
But, I take pause...
Looking in the mirror
I see my body’s already covered
Marked in invisible ink
Every inch of my bare skin
Painted with the joy and pain of living
From my heart to my hips
Color faded here, but poppin’ over there
Memories designed by your hands
Others etched on my own
A collection that makes me smile
Among a few pieces I regret
So, about getting a tattoo...
I guess I’m not ready
Because I can’t think of a tattoo
Meaningful enough, yet
To write over any of the life I’ve lived