Tattoos and teardrops | Teen Ink

Tattoos and teardrops

March 7, 2013
By theshadowofanobody GOLD, Belle Mead, New Jersey
theshadowofanobody GOLD, Belle Mead, New Jersey
19 articles 0 photos 6 comments

They tell me that
I shouldn't cry
apart from moisturizing your eyes,
these tears
have no purpose.
They tell me that
I shouldn't have tattoos
labeled as a wild punk, a rampant teenager,
Who knows only of reckless decisions stitched into skin,
I will be seen as foolish and unprofessional,
cast away by the job interviewers and looked down on by all of society.
So instead.
Instead of crying,
I breathe loudly, trying to cram all the world through my nostrils and into every nook and cranny of my body,
each gulp of air rattling through my constricting lungs,
liquid freedom surging through my veins; sizzling, crackling electricity leaping along threadbare wires.
Instead of tattooing,
I let ink dribble from my grimy fingernails
onto my left arm, because only my right hand that knows rhyme and reason can
trace these silenced thoughts onto my skin.
I have been marked by pen and author of soul,
And I remember, that these will last the shortest of forevers but at least, I
remember. At least, I was there.
And then, God was shouting
It's OKAY! like
tucked into bed, with the blankets wrapped around snugly,
and it's all warmth, and
you know?'s okay.
They tell me I should be out in the open, with loud everyone but--!
I adore corners,
satin sheets, like how the dimensions come together,
standing at the very edge of two worlds, and I'm rooted
to the very knobbly core, of swirls of wood and tendrils of thought.
They tell me that likability's all bright smiles and bold charm and loud conversations but---!
I don't like being set on fire,
tearing through people , burnt crisp and all, but unscathed, flitting about this social butterfly
with a crumpled face made of crumbling teeth and crashing laughter
I prefer warmth,
a real tender warmth,
that seeps through, radiating from an arched spine all the way to earthly, wiggling toes,
that means so much, in a quiet, honest way, to have cherished someone.
If I of the rejected being,
they tell me
can't cry
can't get tattoos
can't sit in corners
can't be quiet and whispery
I the rejected being
you know?'s okay!

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