Your lines and dots mark stories across my skin
From beginning to end
An ongoing expression of my soul’s darkest secrets
A message in a bottle
In an undulating river
Shooting stars across the night’s sky
Leaving hidden gems above the heads of each passer-by.
I was led, once, to believe you were the marks of a criminal
An outcast of society.
But each time your needle breaks the surface,
I feel another part of me set free.
I think it’s the pain I love the most,
The pain that makes you permanent
In your ink I tell my stories
It’s where I hold my venom and
Out from my head, my heart, my mind
I draw my greatest wishes and desires to place on my
Body as a forever reminder
That I felt something once.
Something magical, a miracle
That I am still alive
Satiracle, a pinnacle
Of what I have inside.
So here you are, matched with my piercings
To show the world what I cannot say
I’m an addict, I must admit, and very soon I may
Cover my whole body in black lines and dots
For what I cannot put into words.
I thank you for providing art on a canvas
And allowing wounds to be transferred
From the very depths of my soul.
I still don’t feel whole
I really must thank the empty spaces, too
For allowing room for you to grow.
And what stories will you tell the world when my soul is no longer here?
“Here lies the canvas of a woman whose art told her to persevere.”