I came to you
with all of my insecurities
tattooed on my soul.
And the words
"I'm sorry"
dripping from my tongue.

You met me with tenderness
patience
and open arms.
and filled me with so much love
that for the first time
I felt safe.

my bedroom walls are filled with framed art.
a desperate plea for me to get up in the morning,
to search for beauty that is replicated
inside the golden frames that cling to my wall.

and i tattoo pretty things
onto my arms
in an attempt to remind myself that there are
pretty things left in the world.

if i don’t remind myself with the tangible
i will forget about all the sweetness.
and i will never leave this sour.

that i am willing
to sit through this
suffering discomfort
and awkwardness
repeatedly and
of my own volition
must be a testament
to something
i am just not clear
whether it should
be taken as a positive
         or negative
it might show courage
could merely be folly
a sign of resilience perhaps
or remnants of my naivety
it could be inspirational
belief in oneself or
simply a case of conceit
let's be honest
it could be any of those
or it could be none
yet more than likely
i am overthinking
everything again

A garden on my arm
I started as a teen
An insect that does no harm
I got tattoos to show my keen
Sense of free-spiritedness
I love my art
My bare arm I won’t miss
It’s just the start
Of my self-expression
Journey to the center

She covers her body in art
Hoping one day someone will look at her
And think her beautiful

Taint, a tender trap?
Blue of the sky, remembered by a cloud:
Faintly, the poetry of life, and its hap
Has the voice to step forward, and remind the season of the proud:

A hatful of poor decision's, has its merit...
But the cool eye of embarrassment
Has come and gone, with meet to understand, limited...
To ours, the count of couth, is one more irony's lament?

Hate me when you see the dragon...
Ought fix and fit enough futures
The life of a needier first, is always a sorrow last, a harrowed tongue?
Has said the obvious, a role in the heinous is a fools curiosity...

Throwing tenderness at you, like one of thumbs even is...
Reasons may give you onus, a variety to concede a gift
Coming for beauty, and its rosy inclination, a truer wisdom
That has survived the heed, the beating wings of condition to lift:

Hate me one more time, a reality of pain has become a champion:
To the fate, the hardened courage of youth, with a challenged whisper?
May a knowing hurt, be the fascinated letter of providence
Seeing the obvious, a bird of purer colors, will finish the kiss?

Guns with an imagination...?
Salt in a brutish court, of angers more, to swear in romantic language
Still the burden of squalor, with a slighter lip of intimation?
Your fruit is sweeter by the secrecy, as if, a cold shoulder ever is a place for rage...

tattoos on my neck but should be your lips instead
tattoos on my neck but should be your hands instead
I want every part of me, enmeshed in you
the sun kisses my back as she creeps up behind the hill
shedding light on the aftermath of drunken thrills
I miss the blaze of the blunt and the bass in the club
relinquish my demons as we are talking it up
do you like my eyes that's where they hide?
do you like my thighs wanna try them tonight?
because tattoos on my neck but should be your lips instead

Darling, do not tell me that you are more beautiful with those drawings on your skin.
You've convinced yourself that they mean so much to you, and no one can even begin to understand, but I want you to know that the real beauty of an individual is more than simply skin deep.
That is why the ink on your skin does not impress me.
Everyone has stories and scars —I just choose not to wear mine on the outside.