Tattoo – a poem about ……….

This ink on my skin tells a story about me
which may not be obvious to you at first sight
especially if all you see if yet ‘another tattoo’
permanently etched onto flesh as a fashion statement.

I’ll not argue with your viewpoint if you disagree
that my ink is a fantastic piece of art
your opinion is not important to me
for this piece of art is an expression of my life.

Which to be bold and upfront,
is the very core of art itself
for my tattoo tells the tale of the pain and joy
I have experienced and continue to evolve with.

It is a beautiful and physical reminder
of the pain in life
realised via the actual intrusion
of needles penetrating the skin to leave their indelible marks.

This piece that adorns my arm
whilst admittedly is indeed quite fashionable
now reminds me at every moment I look upon it
of how I was and still am in this world I cannot shape.

A form of self-abuse perhaps?
could be considered if you will
demonstrating more than what is obvious
of my slightly fractured mindset.

Yes, I will agree to that,
as enjoyment has been derived
from such brutal torture
that damages my tattered body.

However, there is so much worth,
joy and satisfaction from enduring
the sharpness of the sting of the needle
which offsets the mental anguish.

Through this tattoo
I am free from some of the darkness cast in my mind
relaxed by the art on flesh
satisfied that it will be forevermore.

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