chicks, pants, showing it all, dancing


See the Shadows of Innocence and Sanity

a shadow of the day

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chicks, pants, showing it all, dancing
From Alex.

I have a tattoo right above where my bum, my bottom, my ass starts. A tattoo in black ink, right where I can reach back, with no effort, with my left hand and trace the letters there. I got it on a whim one day, back before I left, when nothing felt right. And the burning scratch of ink and needle in the hand of a talented tattoo artist made that ache, the itchy burn that grows and builds at the base of my skull until I cannot take it anymore… a tattoo pen made it disappear.

Home. Four letters, just in the space of an inch. The last inch. The precious, final inch of me where I had not

Gage asks me what it means when he sees it. If it means something like BAMF or MIA or some other abbreviation. I laugh and tell him no. No, it does not stand for anything like that. He frowns, trying something else on for size in his mind, the thoughts like clothes for how he sees me. Is it short for something, he asks after a moment more. I shake my head and kiss him gently. Not short for anything either. Not an abbreviation, or shorthand. It is what it is.


When someone sees it out somewhere, they too ask me what it means. When they ask, I laugh, and I tell them that it is not finished yet. I tell them the other half will be a hermit crab. Or perhaps a turtle. A snail, even. I have not decided yet, but I say that I want to be like them and take home with me. That my tattoo is my little piece of home that I carry with me so I can be like the turtle, the hermit crab, the snail.

Baba asked me when I was being too honest one day. Asked me what it meant, to have a word scrawled permanently onto my skin. To have such a normal word in such a strange place. I was too honest. So honest I told her that writing home on my skin is my way to feel at home in my own skin. How can you be comfortable, at home, if you hate yourself?


I told her that having home with me at all times means I never have to be alone. I never have to think that Jude and abuse and high hands is home. I have my home with me.

I told her that a man will not damage his own home. He won’t tear it down or rip it apart. It’s his home. I told her that maybe, just maybe, it would stop me from damaging myself. Having my body be my home… having more respect for myself… I looked at her and said the words that I never told anyone.

There is a knife behind my headboard for no other reason than I cannot stand myself.

A man will not tear down his own home.


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