I do tattoos. I at first thought hard about the meaning of each picture immortalised in my skin. They carried stories, memories, honor, victory, defeat. One word:
Validation.
It's an unconscious thing but it isn't that long ago that a young woman with tattoos was in a freak show. Look it up.
Now? Now I speak little and my usual answer is 'nope'. One day my throat hurt so much I couldn't speak. I wrote 'nope' on paper and showed it to talk. It wasn't convenient so I tattooed 'nope' on my fingers.
Now? Now I'm a girl with weird word on fingers because of sore throat and lazy vocabulary. Life isn't so grand I need masterpieces.
My body is full of scars bc you know sometimes other ppl like to mistreat you. Sometimes you're just an idiot who taught having an old, bare iron roof to roll down would be fun. Nails sticking up and rocks down but fun, right? So as it is, why not just shitpost myself more. When future archaeologists dig up my body from swamp they'll have hell of a time tryna figure out the cryptic messages so important they were tattooed on my skin. What I plan to do next? More text. "Kops" would be good. Or "Hups".
