#mandabword

In college, my favorite experience was when my 7:00 AM English professor, on the FIRST DAY, jumped on to top of his desk and boldly stated:

Our friendship has become toxic; we are but two sides of two very different coins. I sometimes imagine myself to be brass, bronze even. I let my crass speak patterns while my wisdom suffers the tears you wept during the silent end to our 20+ year friendship. We mirror one another in a far and fruitless manner unlike that of any abnormal adult friendship. Petty rumors and disenchanted folklore prevent what once remained whole and intact.

I felt this burning sensation filling my body completely as it tore through my veins, melting my throat with a heated aftertaste. He was seated on the far side of the room, bottle of bourbon in his left hand, his right index finger leading me his way. It was dark, and we were far too drunk to want to feel sober. The liquor burned less and less after each shot I would down; masquerading my deep-rooted desires and pent-up frustrations. With my last round, I released every hope and wish I ever had for us to be together; for he is not you.

A light falls beyond mortal touch. A sheer gust of air and glitter spark the room filled with amber and sulfate. A single touch of dark spreads past the salt and vinaigrette. To hear the sounds of moments that pass us unknowingly, what a joy to comprehend. I see movement beyond the rubble, past the shards of glass, past the moment I once told myself I’d remember what it was like to breathe clean air.

“What do your tattoos mean to you?” That is a repetitive notion I receive almost daily. I currently have three tattoos. These tattoos of mine hold meaning. I always thought of tattoos as our way of choosing which scars we want the world to know. . I chose these tattoos to show the world what I had; who I am, who I choose to be. My first tattoo: the Superman shield displays my love for the character and all he stands for; & the love and strength I saw in my brother during his last year of life. the ankh relays the meaning behind “Life after Death.” My brother’s soul lives on long after his body had been burned. “Death” is the last comic my brother gave me. The main character wears an ankh around her neck. The butterfly wings show my fandom for them, plus the wings my brother was given the moment his eyes shut and never again, opened. These “scars” show me who I lost, who I’ll never get to know, who I long to be to a stranger I see myself next to, smiling in family snapshots. My Second Tattoo: ‘Word’ is what few appear to understand, to grasp. My brother never got a tattoo. Sure, he had many piercings. But never a tattoo. It couldn’t be because of the pain you are sure to endure. He was a poet, like myself. I was once told he had gotten up on stage, and with the mic he held his audience in the palm of his hand. I am a poet. I dabble in performance poetry. That is why I had the tattoo artist write out ‘Word” on my right wrist. My brother always ended his poems with ‘Word,’ and now, so shall I. Scars can heal with time. That is what we all are told. Tattoos are the scars we choose for ourselves. To show the world that we are not afraid of the scars from within. We embrace the bad with the good. We turn something dark and depressing and make it something we can look to with a smile. My Third Tattoo: I chose butterflies. I told myself I would never once get a tattoo that could be found in a tattoo artists’ book. Mine were to be unique. My friend, Dorianne, is an artist. She had drawn me three penciled butterflies. I imagined those same butterflies bursting with color on my shoulder; like paint brushes with a built-in airbrush effect that lasts… permanently. Scars heal over time. Mine never will. I’m proud of that. What does your scars show you? What does your tattoo mean to you?