I don’t have one.
But I have many friends
who have decorated their skins with stories and anecdotes,
of heartbreaks and of life’s milestones.
Colorful flowers that remind her of her mother.
A quill that illustrates his passion.
The lyrics of a song, embedded to the surface of her being, wanting it to be the last time those words will hurt her.
A man in a motorcycle, an ode to her bestfriend in heaven.

I want one. Once upon a time.
But I was not given the courage to bear the pain that reminds me of another pain.
No, I cannot wear my heart on my… skin. Not like that.
Instead, I was given the silent comfort of words.
Words that shout bold like the blackest ink,
it echoes and spreads in thousands of colors across the skins of the pages of paper.
If I get a tattoo for every single thing I hold dear, for every favorite person, for every hurt, well, I’d be beautiful.

As you are.
For what else is more beautiful than the courage to express one’s self?
We are beings made to feel, and feel strongly for what we believe in, for who we believe in.
Your tattoos, my poems, her paintings, his music:
We are beings made to express, to feel, to create, to evolve in this process we call existence.


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