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.
This poem was written in 2016. Disclaimer: I love tattoos and scars. I have some of my own. :)
Love is like a tattoo; Not just because it lasts forever. But because it ******* stings when it starts to settle in. And by the time you realize you don't want it anymore, It's too late to stop. It's sealed and bleeding. It's with you forever.
If you don't know how to punch, or how to have a good time, If you can't make a decision, you should know to flip a dime. Cover me in tattoos, Piercings galore, confidence is ****, without it you're a bore.
her body painfully riddled with ink, all the moments that made her heart sink, stories and words that intertwined within, look for the patches of free, untouched skin.
that needle brought hope, a fresh, new beginning, to a past that had seemed to have no chance at winning, i smile and i'm proud of her skin being covered, its her uniform of pride, she made it out, unbothered.
The one on her left wrist reminds her of a family member now long gone. On her right forearm a flower, because she liked how it looked. On the back of her neck a gecko she got in Cancun and on her left thigh, one she'd rather forget. None add her up or subtract who she was or who she is.