I have tattoos.
They are on my heart,
So you may not have seen them.
And at night, when I can't sleep
I run my thoughts over them,
Tracing their outlines.

Pain leaves a mark
Indelible, but so does joy.
If I can trust you and
You can be patient
I will guide you, tracing
Their outlines and stories.

I have tattoos.
Inked in love and sorrow,
Rage, happiness, and grief.
They paint a picture,
Ink seeping in to color
Who I was, and who I become.

Would you like to see?



I keep thinking about getting ink done.  But I'm awful at committing to things.  Part of it is that I second guess my motives.  I change my mind about things.  And after everything else in my life thus far, and what I know will come in the future, haven't I borne enough pain for questionable or frivolous reasons? 

I have a lot of ideas for what I would get.    My first thought was a flying monkey on my left shoulder, as preparation and prelude to a big back piece of the woodcut of Elphaba from the book "Wicked."  There are also some Mark Ryden pieces I'm drawn to, but the shading on them is really difficult.  I have thought about a small skull and crossbones on my arm, after getting a bruise in that shape due to an applique on my sweatshirt, as an external symbol of one of my heart tattoos.  I've tried to decide on a memorial tattoo for my father, but keep vacillating on the design.  And part of me still holds out hope that I'll get married one of these days, and I don't want tattoos sticking out of the dress.  So for now, I keep them on the inside.  A skull, an ankh, a bear in a boat, Rose... and my Wicked self.