Tattoo Girl

7 Oct

New old poem. No, it’s not about a girl with tattoos. That’d be cheesy. i really like the imagery in this one. Hope you do, too!

Tattoo Girl

From her blue-green threshold,

the tattoo girl takes

an Olympian leap

into an uncertain future

and finds herself on shaky ground.

She walks stiffly, a tiny,

two-dimensional beauty,

fashioned from needles, skin, and inks.

So small she can slip into your pocket

or wrap around your finger.

She’s a painted picture,

roaming from body to body,

Trying to find the perfect backdrop, 

a peaceful scene to fit in.

She flitted with fairies and flowers,

made herself part of an intricate back piece.

Slipped into an arm band, 

stood among sky, sun, and moon.

She hung out with tribal designs, 

Marijuana leaves, Natty Boh guys

and Grateful Dead bears.

Jumped from breast to navel

to hipbone to ankle and 

up back to the chest again, 

until one day, looking down,

she found that she had no heart.

She was an empty soul,

full only of color and pain.

So using all the sight that she contains,

she follows the path from which she came, 

finds the body where she belongs,

and jumps back into her own skin.

 

 

 

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