my body my canvas

My lover was an artist
But his only canvas was my body
He painted masterpieces on my back
And sketched galaxies with the flick of his fingers
My lover pressed the stars unto my ribs
with the touch of his lips
And created oceans between the folds of my skin

i beat art block in a fist fight

My body is a canvas.
It has scars, stretch marks, and blemishes.
My body is a reminder of the things I’ve been through
A map of the roads I have been down
A constellation in a sky
Where each star is a place my mind has rested
My body is a canvas.
My body can be decorated to my liking:
The tattoo that reminds me to feel better
The nose piercing that I’ve always wanted
The brown eye shadow that makes my blue eyes pop.
The red lipstick that makes me feel like a goddess
Smiles that bring out the crinkles in the corner of my eyes.
My body is a canvas.
And I will mold it into something beautiful.
Something that I love and feel comfortable in.
My body is a piece of art
It is unique and completely untouched by the thoughts of anyone else
My body is my gift to myself.

So next time you tell me that my body is a temple
And I have desecrated it
I will simply respond with
“No, my body is a canvas,
And I will decorate it how I please.”

—  5/4/16
To mom

I know you aren’t happy with the fact I have gotten so many tattoos within the past year but let me try to explain. My body is a wrecked canvas. A canvas which I destroyed in my past and I have left it beaten and destroyed. My arm has nothing to show but pain. A tattoo gives it light. It shows that you can always defeat the past. I love myself and how I look so do not try to tell me otherwise. A tattoo is art. I deserve to feel like art. I am the art.

a brief history of the men in my life

there was the one who’s native tongue was deprecation 

there was the shitty artist who used my body as his canvas 

there was a thief  - he probably keeps my innocence in a jar; I’m sure he wasn’t happy to find out that he couldn’t pawn it

there was the one whom i was meant to be like

and the one who i was actually like 

there was the gardener who tried to plant a rosebush inside me but just got thorns

there was the one who got away; thank god

and the one who couldn’t handle me at my worst, but then again, neither can i 

there was the first one; and the last one

— i couldn’t tell you which was more unfortunate 

there was the one that gave me some hope

and the one that took it all away

there have always been men making camp grounds of out of my bones — 

but tonight i’m lighting a bonfire 

I already warned you, not to fall on things you haven’t seen or known fully. I already told you not take it off, but you said you will accept me. You saw my scars, from my wrists down to my knees; I told you so. What you are looking at is a disaster; me. But what you said I can not believe. I thought you will walk away after seeing what I really am. Instead, you saw me as an art, my body as a canvas. As you run your fingertips against my body I said to myself, “I’m willing to risk again.” You never mind my past, you focused on what we are today. You wrapped me in your arms and gave me the love I truly deserve.
—  I was art // jin
Romantic tension: Jimin

woah, okay, this one got a little out of control! It borderlined smut… sorry?

Originally posted by louizlake

[Song they’re dancing to]

After all the recordings you had seen of Park Jimin on stage, you had expected him to carry the same confidence and charisma into the practice room. Perhaps he might have if the choreography hadn’t been so… sensual? You had danced in that way for so long, that been asked to grind up on someone in front of a 50,000+ audience was no big deal. For Jimin, however, it was not. In fact, just doing it in front of the mirror with no on but the choreographer, Manuel, seemed to make him quite flustered.

“No, no, no!” Manuel cried. He stopped the music and immediately Jimin threw himself away from you. Doing your best to suppress offense at the gesture, you wandered off to get your water bottle. “Jimin, you’re so stiff! What’s wrong with you today?” Manual continued to berate him for a solid two minutes. Jimin was turning red not out of exertion but from embarrassment. You did your best to spare him by stretching and pretending not to listen. “You have to want her, make love to her on the dance floor–What? Is (y/n) not good looking enough for you? Do you find her undesirable? Where’s your passion?!” That was a little too far. “Hey, Manuel,” you began, “it’s fine. This is all a little new–” “New? New!” He let out a shrill laugh, “we have two weeks before performance!” Throwing up your hands in exasperation, you looked at Jimin for help. “I’m sorry, I just think maybe I need to take a break.” “A break,” Manuel scoffed, “you’re barely sweating. Fine, if you want a break, take it. I’ll be back in two hours.” The mirrors shook as he slammed the door behind him.

It was quiet. Finally, Jimin spoke, apologising awkwardly, “I really don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m really, really sorry.” You offered a small smile with a slight shake of the head, “well, I can’t say that it’s fine. You’re being frustrating.” Jimin ducked his head. You continued, “but right now I think I’d prefer to hear why you’re having so much trouble. Be honest. We’re partners and I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jimin mumbled, “I’m worried you won’t like me being that close to you. I’m also afraid… uh, that it’ll get out of control?” “You mean pop a boner,” you said bluntly. Wordlessly he nodded. “Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to me,” you shrugged. “If you do, I won’t judge. It means you’re feeling the passion we’re supposed to be showing. It’s not just acting it. You’re supposed to feel it.” Then, you quickly added, “this dance isn’t about love, it’s lust. That’s easy enough, right?” Contrasting with your previous statements, you smiled shyly, “I’d like to think that we’re both pretty attractive people. Just go with it, alright?”

The beginning was fine, as usual. You both broke out in a sweat, muscles working hard in isolation. Then, as you turned to him, ready to continue, you caught sight of his body stuttering to a halt. Stopping, you walked over to the stereo to pause the music. “So, it’s the physical contact that makes you uncomfortable.”


“Okay, we’ll take it slow.” You hummed thoughtfully, “let’s start from the ‘keep it down, down baby can you keep it up all night’ part, yeah?” Exhaling shakily, Jimin shrugged, “sure.”

He got into position behind you, arm snaking around your waist. Heaving a sigh, you made eye contact with your partner in the mirror. “Jimin.” He was looking at his shoes, “hm?” 

“Is this how you would grind on someone in the club?”


 “Get closer.” When he didn’t move immediately, you reached around and physically pulled him to you. Then, an idea surfaced. Maybe if you made him want this, he would do a better job. Swallowing a wicked grin, you arched against him. To your satisfaction, you heard his breath catch in his throat. “Count,” you commanded. His voice came out low and hoarse, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight; one, two, three…” Jimin repeated it over and over. You’re hand moved from your side to the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair to tug his face closer. He choked on his own words, eyes wide as you twisted your head around from the mirror to stare at Jimin from over your shoulder. His eyes flicked down to your lips, which were curved in a lascivious grin.

His hot breath skimmed over your ear, neck, and mouth. Your stomach did a little flip. Suddenly, the game wasn’t fun anymore. Clearing your throat, you released him, “you can let me go, now. We’ll do it with music this time.” As you fiddled with the ipod that was plugged into the speakers you called, “do you think you’ll be more comfortable this time?”  Jimin self consciously tugged his t-shirt lower, “I don’t know if comfortable is the word I’d use.” Chuckling, you selected the song and made your way back over to Jimin.

You all over my skin, I’m anxious. Paint my body, boy, I’ll be your canvas. You both robotically stopped and started, him guiding your limbs into their moves. This time, you could feel his fingers pressing into your hip, almost squeezing too hard. Dropping down in front of him, dragging fingers across his chest as you wriggled between his legs, only to have him pull you up and begin the individual moves.

“Yes! Yes!” Manuel was standing in the doorway, cheering with both fists in the air. “I hope you guys are using protection–oh, my gosh, even the mirrors are steaming up!” Both red and sweaty from physical exertion, you and Jimin exchanged looks. “I don’t think we’re going to have a problem with our performance,” Jimin stated steadily. Your water bottle suddenly became intensely interesting as his words sent shivers up your spine.

(Whew, I just got back from vacation, so no more posting on my phone! Hello, to my new followers, I didn’t realize how many I’d acquired while I was gone. Please, request here. Just to avoid questions, I’m alternating between the Maknae and Hyung line, next will be Yoongi)

Versions Jin, Taehyung

anonymous asked:

What is the purpose of growing endlessly?

Why does a painter paint?

Why does a writer write?

Why does a musician play?

Muscle growth is my expression, my passion. It’s refining a product, my body a canvas to show who I am inside. The purpose in growth is to be true to myself.

when i get comfortable enough in my ability to pass as a gay man in public i want to do all sorts of fun outlandish makeup 

like i wanna do different kinds of weird colorful freckles and shit on my face and i love the idea of using my body as a canvas - i think it would be fun to have a persona of sorts with a stage name and wear all sorts of outfits as obnoxious parodies of masculinity throughout history… like a drag king but in my regular life im a trans dude 


My Body, Your Canvas—–

I want you to paint on my body
with delicate brushes of your words.
A scenery in which all is wonder
and yet there is nothing to ponder.

I want you to make masterpiece
in however you express your art
Stroke me with colors of your words
that makes my soul quiver

Make me your secret piece of art
that is hidden in the deepest depth
of you heart.

Carve me with your love
and make traces with your kiss
Intoxicate me with your touch
that vindicates my existence

Imprints in my skin

my body is a canvas
I want to be the brush that your hands touch

Like a painting
that gets to define
the way you feel

It’s so much more
then that to me..

sex all the pleasure
what I dream of when
I think of you
to your eyes
to your soft lips
to your naked body on mine .

I gave in because
with you I felt safe

I wanted you to touch me
oh how I play that scene
inside my head
because without your hands on me ,
you had already touched me in some way

I can’t tell you how I feel
I don’t want to feel this way
I have a habit of getting my hopes up and then things not being okay

I give more then what is given
I just want something to be good and stay
but reality hits and only time will tell if your meant for me .

Distance between us doesn’t mean a thing
i just hope that through all my fuck ups you still feel some way for me

Though I wait for you
at times I feel like I’ll be waiting forever

I never want to lose you but I can only hope for a wish to come true .


—  I’ve always wanted you

I wrote you a poem with the intent that you frame it
My bedroom is my stage lit, pageless 
My bed is my canvas, and I tend to canvas your body, mind and soul, and
Paint pictures with inscriptions that describes our adventure,
I want to read your encryptions like morse code,
To envision you like photography, to choreograph your limbs like dance,  
I want to stand on stage with you next to me,
Reciting the poem writing on your person,
I want you to sing, to sings the words that I described to you,
As I moan your name so they’ll know what art is,
My heart is with you, the artist.