She covers her scars with ink filled flowers.
Patches of tiny weeds growing through the cracks of her body.
She hopes to one day be covered so society doesn't see her past mistakes.
Her mother always told her that the best art appeared through
disaster and heartbreak.
Fast forward 60 years and her mother was right.
She's the artwork her mother always said she would be.
She finally
Ever bloomed.

I am determined to cover the scars riddling my body with the sweet black ink.
To cover the once red oozing cracks and burn marks with
blooming flowers and healing gardens.
Ink gardens filled with love and empowerment.
To let the flowers bloom from the cracks of the hurt

when they ask me why i choose
to cover my body in pretty tattoos

I tell them it is to canvas the scars
from others attempting to mar

to wear my afflictions as a badge of honor
reminding myself that I am stronger

to show the world pain can be beautiful
that I am here, and I am unmovable

Scars are like memories,
and tattoos.
when you fall,
when your heart breaks,
and when your best friend turns their back on you.
it leaves scares that hurt every time you think about it.
it's a memory that will stick
in your head.
it's in the past but it comes back and bites.
it's a tattoo because it's a memory
that hurts,
but doesn't disappear.
It never does.
When you see it so vividly,
you sometimes regret what led you
to the scar that is a memory
that leaves an imprint in
your life's history.

You say that my body is a sacred temple.
I agree.
And just as Michelangelo christened the sacred
Walls of the Sistine Chapel with his handiwork,
So I will paint the sacred walls of my body
With the hieroglyphs of my story.