are the tattoos I etched
to mark my recovery.
And boy, did it hurt.
The white squiggles at my hips
wink at me every time I look down.
Don't look down!
As if.
I swear, they conspire with each other.
I'll never forget the very first one.
Shiny. Indignant.
I hugged my skeleton and wept.
Now I've grown accustomed
not to the deliberate finality of dropping my gaze
mesmerized by my slow evolution,
but to looking up.
I look at eyes and mouths
instead of the impossible circumferences
above my knees,
the ever shifting law.
Stretch marks
are the tattoos I etched
to mark my recovery.
Do I regret them?
Oh, a little bit always.
But it's sure as hell a story worth remembering.
I take up more colour than I used to,
and these- these are the lines that will never be filled in.
I earned them.
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
are the tattoos I etched
to mark my recovery.
And boy, did it hurt.
The white squiggles at my hips
wink at me every time I look down.
Don't look down!
As if.
I swear, they conspire with each other.
I'll never forget the very first one.
Shiny. Indignant.
I hugged my skeleton and wept.
Now I've grown accustomed
not to the deliberate finality of dropping my gaze
mesmerized by my slow evolution,
but to looking up.
I look at eyes and mouths
instead of the impossible circumferences
above my knees,
the ever shifting law.
Stretch marks
are the tattoos I etched
to mark my recovery.
Do I regret them?
Oh, a little bit always.
But it's sure as hell a story worth remembering.
I take up more colour than I used to,
and these- these are the lines that will never be filled in.
I earned them.
