I find the tattoos on other people fascinating.
They all speak to me,
Each one with their own story.

The compass tattooed on a shoulder blade.
It tells the story of the teenage boy,
The one who fell so effortlessly in love,
The one who lost himself in another's company,
Then had to find himself and his own way without her.

The lightning bolt tattooed on a young girl's foot.
It speaks of the late night thunderstorms,
The ones spent with a boy who was her world,
The boy with the thunderstorms raging inside of him,
Who ended his life much too soon.

The anchor tattooed on a teen mom's heel.
It reminds the young mother to stay grounded,
To keep the drug abuse in her past,
To stay away from the alcohol,
If only for her daughter.

The rocketship and the moon tattooed on his fingers.
It brings back memories of a little boy,
The man's little brother,
The one who he'd fly to the moon and back for,
That became his priority when his father left them.

The music notes making their way around her wrist.
They tell the story of her teenage years,
The years filled with fighting parents,
The years where her only companion was music,
That in a way saved her life.