You've already made an assumption about me before I can even speak. You assume that since I have inked on my arm that I must be a; convicted felon, loser, trash, groupie or even worse. You don't even know me but since I have decided to put my heart on my sleeve, I must be the underbelly of society.

I see you watching me at the grocery store, spending time with my Mom, and even as I work. Do I intrigue you that much that you have to practically break your neck to get a glance at me as you pass? And as you turn your head for the second time, you roll your eyes in such a way that I know I have offended you. I have offended you. My body offended you. The artwork that I chose to represent myself offended you. Now say that to yourself out loud.

How ignorant it must sound.

Like I said, you don't know me. You don't know where I've been, who I've been, or why I am. There are people in this world that have this natural tendency to progress, to experiment, to break down the walls of conformity built by society.

Tattoos are not meaningless. There is a story behind every tattoo. Even if it was spur of the moment, Spring Break tattoo, there is a story behind it.

I don't expect you to understand. I mean, you have such a closed mind why would you understand? But since we are both here, I might as well attempt to talk to a brick wall. We've all lost a game, a battle, our person, losing is in human nature. When we fail and heal, we find ways to commemorate. How can you look at me with distaste as I display my feelings to the world? You can't tell me I am "trashy" because I have overcame something I want to remember.

Tattoos are for life. We know this. We made the choice to get them. We don't need negative people reminding, "you know they last forever."

How blessed I am to be able to carry something that reminds me of my Grandma everywhere I go. To wear something, no matter what. I will always have something that reminds me of her spirit.


You pity me because I have ink in my skin.
I pity you because your heart is filled with ignorance, malice, negativity. Yet, my skin is filled with beauty.

So what does it matter to you? How is my tattoo hurting you? How is it affecting your job, your life, or anyone else? It's on me, not you. Yet, you blast me behind closed doors and give me false labels. You look at me with pity, shame, and disgust. But when I look in the mirror; all I see is beauty, confidence, and creativity. Our views are distorted, they will never be the same. You judge me, you reject me, but most of all you don't understand me.