You wore your tattoos
Just like your heart
On your sleeves of wonderful art
Each tells a story, a reason
Each admired and seen
But it was your heart
That wanted to be seen, heard
It was your heart that had the reasons
Of why you were art itself
Your skin adored
But it was the heart that yearned
A canvas for black ink, worn proudly
An uncolored heart, worn openly
You loved the pain of the needle
But you feared the pain of your vessel
Despite it all
You wore your heart on your sleeve
Aching to be filled, colored
To tell its story, its love
Your most beautiful tattoo
Is the empty outline
Of where your love should be

He kissed
my flower


























































­















































tattoo.









­










*you naughty minds - smirks

Beneath this stone, a soul now rests,
A life once filled with endless quests.
To find the self, a journey true,
Through art and ink, a path anew.

This body, a canvas for the mind,
Etched with symbols, a story defined.
Tattoos, a testament to the heart,
Expressing truths, never to part.

In youth, a search for identity,
Grasping for answers, a fragility.
But through the brush, the pen, the needle's touch,
A self emerged, no longer in such.

The artist's hand, a guiding light,
Unlocking doors to inner sight.
Colors and lines, a language divine,
Revealing the depths of this soul's design.

Tattoos, a tapestry of life's tale,
Scars and triumphs, never too pale.
A map of experiences, a road well trod,
Etched upon flesh, a testament to the divine.

In this final resting place, a life well-lived,
A journey of self-discovery, freely given.
Through art and ink, a legacy left behind,
A testament to the power of the human mind.

May all who pass by this humble grave,
Be inspired by the life that here did crave.
To find their own path, their own true self,
And let their story be told, not left on a shelf.

For, in the end, it is not the years that matter,
But the mark we leave, the lives we shatter.
This soul, now at peace, has found its way,
A life well-lived, a masterpiece displayed.

little birds work their way up her neck
as if her ear would give them
the rest they deserve
their colors are fresh
ink is set
clearly their flight
has not been long enough
to make them fade
vibrant
but hidden by hair
not quite long enough
to obscure them
just long enough
to give them shade
from time to time

I long to give those birds
the rest they deserve
to lend them my lips
as a momentary resting place
on countless occasions
in the years to come
I long to give them hope
to show them that their flight
their constant motion
is unnecessary
and that it is ok
for them to settle down

depicted on her arm
hieroglyphs and pictorial charm
tattoo sleeve deep dive
into an ocean of everything
she finds so hard to relate
left hanging in the air
but don't question it
like the elephant in the room
move right on stranger
it's not speaking to you
there is a cult of believers
a religion based on trust
if you need to ask the reason
non-believer you are lost
in a garden that's a secret
that's already cast you out
you'll never know her freedom
it's a dish you just can't taste

he conveyed an exterior
tough as a nut
layered as an onion
sharp as a knife
tattooed like a gallery
hidden emotion displayed
across the canvas of a body
scarred by conflict
battered by life
he walked defensively
decisively
a single minded direction
where to go
what to do
pushing through crowds
politely
though no one dared
challenge him