When mythology’s children come home with a black eye


Confessions of a Tattoo

I was not supposed to survive
They said my life was over before it was written
that I’d be blotted out from memory
bitten with erasing lasers;
they had seen it happen before

But i was made of more than
brittle Bic ink
For countless cycles I withstood
the angry sun’s bleaching and burning
the daily monsoon
the loofah

For the hardships of life are nothing
when God provides
bless him
works in mysterious ways
I grew old without fading or
spreading into amoeba shapes

you all know the tale
How the world was made
of a great hide
stretched into shape
and molded into mountains and valleys
winding rivers and sacred places

And on this blank
barren planet
This skin and canvas
the Inkblotter saw fit to create life
He wrote each one of us into being
through his mighty hand and needle
not in his own image
but each distinct
We know this to be true
that we are all tattoos

our family was forged in the torso
Our tribe the wisest
and most pious of all clans
We were smiled upon by the heavens
and blessed with a life shielded from the sun
We have been fruitful and multiplied
Inkblotter be praised
and because of this sacred space
we have not faded
We were delivered from the great
plague of the mid-life
An age where the world around us became
dry and
folded upon itself

But children
that wide world is not quite so big anymore
I mean maybe the expanse of the midsection is growing
though in every other country
space is scarce

Our borders are being trespassed by heretics—
tattoos who pray
to a different goddess
They say she is the true writer of lives
that she has replaced the God of old
They have named her Amber
and denounced the Inkblotter as expired
crying that he died a long time ago

They lie

So don’t cry when the junior high
tattoos tease you
Just turn the other cheek
they haven’t seen the gleam of a needle like we have
Their features haven’t dropped yet
They don’t even have teenage battle scars
Be happy that though they’ll be but dodos
soon erased on the chart of higher markings
our ink will stay immortal
lasting far beyond the inferior spawn
of Amber


10 thoughts on “When mythology’s children come home with a black eye

  1. When I read your poetry, I can’t help but think of what Keats said: “I am certain of nothing but Holiness of the Heart’s affections and the Truth of Imagination.” What a gift to have such an imagination, and to use it splendidly! ~ Lily

Say something, Crazy Reader!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s