I went on a two hour run one day
after my step-father told me
that no man would marry me
if I had a tattoo.
I never asked for a husband,
I never expressed want for a
spouse;
I want a tattoo.
I laid in bed for two hours that day
until he came up to my room
and "apologized" saying,
he was "joking"
and I "clearly took this stuff very seriously."
I take the world seriously.
I try very hard to emphasize just how little I care what others think about me.
I want to be sarcastic.
I want teal hair.
I would like to ink my skin.
I want to run out my frustrations, not
"get a good body for bikini season"
I eat fruit to feel good, not so
my legs will "look good in that dress"
I want a tattoo
because my body was not made for you to look at.
My body is not created every single day
for men.
I want a tattoo-
a circle just below my knuckle on my left-hand ring finger,
a reminder that I belong to me
way before,
always before,
I belong to anyone else.
I never asked for a husband,
and I certainly never asked you.