File created: 2026-03-16
An ode to tattoos
I love my tattoos. A beautiful art hard fought for and won. In a world that is cheap, a tattoo is less easy. I feel something, and not only from what I can see. My art is painful. Intrusive. Permanent. I am forever wed to it and to those parts of myself.
As I age, so they will age—with splendour or revulsion, not unlike myself. And when I am dead, rotting in the ground, my art will vanish with me.