poem-tattoo

To my future daughter,                                                                                                              
 I’m sorry for all the hurt the world will inflict on you.
I wish I could protect you,
But I can’t.                                                                                                                           
Instead, I will teach you what my mother failed to teach me.                                                                                                                                   
  i. You are more than your body.
The world will tell you, you are nothing but lips and curves.
Only thigh gaps and soft brown waves of hair.
They are wrong, baby.
There are universes in your eyelashes,
Worlds caved into your ribs.
You are entirely too big for your body, for this world.
Your world is held together by skin and bones, but you are more than the stitching at your seams.
You are wonder.
And grace.
And beauty, all in one.                                                                                                                           
  ii. The world is at your service.
Never let anyone tell you you cannot be anything you want.
Honey, you might not be able to be everything,
But you sure hell can be something.
Anything.
Be an astronaut, if you want to see what the world is like away from all the noise.
Be a doctor, if you want to know what its like to hold a beating heart in your hand.
Be a teacher, if you want to see true wonder in those around you.
Be all of it or none of it.
The world will be what you make it.
And you can make it how you want.                                                                                                              
 iii. Please don’t resent me for when I try to protect you
I wish my mother had taught me to thicken my skin,
To hold my breath around bullies
And not let them see me bleed.
I wish I’d been taught tough love.
I walked down hallways with a hood of slurs covering me, tears burning acid on my cheeks.
Instead, I was taught unconditional love, which is great but it won’t help.
Not when it really matters.
It won’t prevent the scratches you draw across your arms when times get tough.
The blood drawn will heal with kisses, slowly, but they will still bleed.                                                                                                              
 iv. Befriend the outsider.
Because, my darling, we are all the outsiders, some are just outsiders together.
The girl with the pink hair has a story behind her eyes as well as her tattoos.
Take time to listen to it.
It might shift your world a little bit.
The boy with the acne always running, running, running.
He might be running from more than his problems.
Maybe his mind, maybe the love he doesn’t know how to show.
He might let you run with him, if you ask.                                                                                                              
 v. They’re going to leave you, whoever they are.
A friend, a lover, a companion.
They will say they won’t - but they will.
And that’s okay.
Your heart will wither when the door slams on his way out.
Tears stream down your face when another message remains unanswered.
That’s okay too. It will all be okay.
Not at first, but eventually.
Because we are all on our own journey and maybe yours don’t intersect anymore.
Life is big and messy but sometimes it’s not big enough for all of us.                                                                                                                           
So, do it all.
Be tall with short hair.
Short with purple hair.
Loud with a small voice. 
Small with a big heart.
Be anything you want, baby.
Be it all.                                                                                                                           
Because this world is yours.
And what anyone else says doesn’t matter.
And you are made, grown and built to conquer it.
—  To My Future Daughter (For The Road)
i got wildflowers tattooed because
they have a knack
for knowing when the time is right
for them to start to grow.
it’s a reminder i think i’ll need for a while,
and a skill i’ll need to emulate. 
(and even if they start to
lose their meaning in my mind,
on my skin they bloom forever-
if this stitched-together soul
can keep these flowers alive,
then no storm will be enough to break me.)
—  a.b.e.

I want to be covered in art.

This now pale canvas 
To be a reflection of
The colours which dance behind closed eyes.

I want to paint my life on this scarred form.

To tell the stories
Whispered beneath midnight skies,
Never before kissed by the wind.

—  Sorcha
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Dreaming in Tattoo

something with fire & roses
feathers, fur, a raven’s wing
something with claws & teeth
flowers, leaves, a river, a stream
something with eyes & hands
fingers, toes, kissable lips
lines of poetry shaped like rain
my own words, my own thoughts
my laughter, my tears
my loneliness, my fears
an ocean of spilled ink
obsidian, opal, topaz, rust
sunshine & moonshine
love mixed with lust
something both dark & light

Azuki Lynn