Tattoo

My body is the canvas, My heart and feelings become the paint, My hands are just merely tools to help me further express myself during my time of difficulty.

my life, my struggles, my passion are my weapons; the bullets that I load into the barrel and with each shot my words, my thoughts, my fears splatter onto the canvas.

each word is crafted with a special type of ink, creating a particular way I feel; a different way to think leaving behind this beautiful mark  something like a tattoo; a tattoo that adds on; a tattoo that grows and becomes more apart of me than my heart and soul combined.

this tattoo is poetry. that beautiful mark left behind is the wonderful sensation that I get after I have let my wonder splurge free onto a page and take me adrift in my own splendid mayhem.

poetry isn't just a way to express but it's a way to feel and to say what you need to say without ever having to say it. poetry succumbs me, molds, shapes, twist, divides, and piece back together all the mixed up ingredients that I have been concocting in my head for a while.

without it I would be much like a prisoner trapped in my  own mind. trying to chisel away little pieces of my brain to inch near to freedom that might never come. poetry is my outlet, my gateway, my oxygen, my lifeline, My Tattoo.