This skin that I live in Has not always been home When people ask me why I have turned my body Into a canvas Into a picture printed piece of art I respond With a smile And a shrug But I know that the reasons Go much deeper in me than the needle has That there is A volcano explanation Waiting to errupt from my mouth But it is not worth the energy So I lift my shoulders up And let them fall back down I am often asked What I would do If I woke one morning With regret burning inside of me Filling my lungs like smoke from a wildfire What I would do If I learned to hate The self-inflicted artwork that adorns my limbs My response to that is not one I can cover with a laugh and a movement Too many times Have I awoke with a hatred for myself So strong That I've had to water it down with whiskey Too many times Right before my eyes Have I seen my skin morph into alien green Into stranger's clothing Unfamilarity becoming a familiar concept When people ask me About fear of regret I want to tell them That my only fear Is not having any That if A drawing on my skin Is my biggest remorse Than lucky I will be I am told That when I get old When my skin is Wrinkled and worn from Years of experience I will be embarassed of the photo albums glued to my body But if I live long enough To tell the stories Of my limbs If I live that long I will know that At that young age It was And They were Exactly what I wanted I would rather have A painted complexion Than a vacant blank page Rather have An ocean of color Than a sea of scars If the filling of ink in my pores Is a step towards Learning to love myself Then who cares My tattoos do not read **** Do not read rebel Trouble I have hope written all over me And that is something I do not plan On regretting My body Is something That I do not plan on regretting I am trying To make this house a home again I am determined To find shelter Under this leaking roof I am determined To become A masterpiece Because I know I am A masterpiece.