Welcome to Volume 4 of Quickwords, my poetry series. I’ve got some fresh ink for you here.
| Choosing a tattoo |
| The permanence of a tattoo is terrifying How am I supposed to dedicate myself to this symbol for the rest of my life when, for my entire life, it has felt as if the only thing promised to last forever is the promise that nothing lasts forever? |
| Puzzle |
| I was born covered in tattoos: A plexus of ink, its embrace a net, hung on my form like a carapace I was not unique. Used canvases were the skin with which I shared the serenity of touch Hugs and kisses and punches and high-fives I’ve yet to set my gaze upon an unmarked hide The journey of each tracing tracing is to solve the puzzle given to them The puzzle that grows as they age, the puzzle that gains more pieces Pieces that move in ways that defy logic; I could organize one tattoo and three more could scramble themselves I could examine one tattoo and a dozen others would crawl over my eyelids I could arrange one tattoo and days later its components would join the mess of another The pain of uniquity is the precision of its definition 2.73377890219 is unique compared to 2.73377890218 So to see the others around me struggling to solve their puzzles is the commonplace but to find someone with whom I share common pieces Oh, the rarity. For we may share the 2.0, the 0.7, the 0.03, But oh, I doubt you have the 0.00000000008 The Apathetic’s strategy is to not solve the puzzle to smudge the ink till their skin is shadow, till they are shadow the dark person you forget rests in the corner of the room The Feeler’s strategy is to continue to try to move the pieces till they are worse or better than before the capricious mess living with the balance of good and bad I was born covered in tattoos and it feels as if I have not solved any of them The ink blurs my sight I see not if I am the Apathetic or the Feeler For an Apathetic is born when a Feeler has failed I was born covered in tattoos and it feels as if I have failed to solve any of them Yet I think of a future where my thoughts can run without thoughts to run behind them my mess will be a masterpiece and in the elegant, intricate order I may look back on the pieces that compose me and wish I could tell my younger self to never be afraid of the puzzle. |
| Afterimage |
| Sprawl my body upon the frigid earth Spread my limbs and strip me bare Feel my warmth slip away, stolen by ghostly, frosted digits Let my skin grow pallid As white as the snow So you may better see the colors upon my shell May you gaze upon these drawings These dedications I have made, cries against the void Desperate, angered, feared, joyous attacks against a nothing that will always win May you see the fruits of my passion The human zeal the dared manifest in the endless dark The burning love that sparked in the shadow A wildfire that spread to countless forests May you see the commitments I made to one The vows to fight against the torment of my mind I’ll be happy for you I’ll make you happy May you see the things that have made this heart beat The things that made this mind feel as if it were alive The thing it knew but struggled to understand And may have never understood May you see the poems I wrote To drown out the noise of the storm between my ears Fighting so that it would one day subside I fight so that it will one day subside May you see my art May you stare at it with the eyes of the world So that when my body withers into the earth You still see the afterimage of my life |
