There’s a ton of stuff that I can’t wrap my head around, but the stigma behind tattoos is definitely up there. I mean, I get why people don’t want them---that’s a personal choice to make, just like how it is a personal choice for me to choose to get one—but the stereotyping, shaming, and harassment that comes from having them is just one of the most fucked up things that I’ve experienced as an inked person. So let’s have a conversation folks, because I’m about to get real on a few notes here.
· My
decision to get/have tattoos doesn’t involve you in any way, shape, or form.
When I’m going under the needle, you’re not feeling the pain. I’m not asking
you to pay for them, I don’t care about your opinion about how their going to
look in 50 years, and hell, I’m not even asking you to look at them. Their
presence on my body is for me. Strictly and simply for me. If their existence
makes you upset...walk.
· Just
because I have tattoos doesn’t mean that I’m a delinquent, that I’m a sex
addict, or that I’m going through a phase. My tattoos were all carefully chosen
for a number of reasons to represent different moments in my life. Even the one
that I spontaneously got in L.A.—which has since become one of my favorite
memories and tattoo experiences—was something that I’d been rolling around in
my head for years. It was spontaneous because I didn’t think it would end up
being a matching one that I got with one of my best friends in a random city we
chose to meet up in, but you know what? That makes it better.
· My
ink makes me feel sexy as fuck. If that makes you feel uncomfortable, that’s
not my problem. And my favorite thing here—especially here—is if you think it’s
going to bother me when you tell me that you don’t want to date or have sex
with girls who have tattoos….Ha, sorry. I had to catch my breath there from
laughing. If you can’t respect me as a woman, as a creative intellect, as a
damn independent thinker, then why the HELL would I want you in my life, or
better yet, in my bed? I’m a grown-ass woman, and I don’t have time for that. I
mean, I’ve never had time for that, but I certainly don’t have time for it now.
· I
look at tattoos as art and as art therapy. If I choose to cope and take note of
experiences in my life with something that’s going to make me feel stronger and
creative and confident, then that’s my business. I much prefer having something
that I can wear every day that reminds me of my strength. And no, a necklace
won’t do here. I swap pain for pain, and that’s how it works for me—that’s
where the catharsis comes from. Much like my poetry.
· My
art doesn’t affect my ability to write, think, speak, or act professionally. I’ve
worked a ton of jobs and wrote a ton of books while I’ve had tattoos and I
promise you, they don’t hold me back, folks.
Plus, I’ve chosen to get all my ink in places that I can hide so it really shouldn’t be a problem or
affect/effect your ability to work with me.
· The
other part of having tattoos that makes me want to spit is the entitlement
that some people have when they see them on my body. Fun fact about me, folks—if
you think my ink is an invitation for you to touch me…I promise you it’s not
and that you’re going to find that out the hard way. I once had someone lift up
my skirt to see the skull on my thigh. Because you know…that’s totally
appropriate. I mean, I have scars from my gallbladder surgery on my stomach—want
to see those too? Ugh.
You know, when I was younger, and even up till my early twenties, I cared so much about what people thought of me. My friends all spiral-curled their hair and did their nails and wore certain clothing brands and I was convinced that I needed to do all of that for people to like me. And then I did. And then those people liked me….and I hated them. I thought I needed to act a certain way to impress men, so I did, and I dated them, and I realized that they were as fake as our relationships felt. So I started dancing (not walking) to the beat of my own drum and I’ve been happier ever since. I like my hair being a wavy mess: it reminds of the summer I spent driving PA highways at night with the windows down. I like wearing a lot of black: it makes me feel colorful and keeps my wild spirit intact. I like having tattoos: it makes my body feel complete and beautiful. So if my tattooed, pale-skinned, black-wearing, spirit bothers you, I promise you, I could honestly care less.
With inked skulls and roses,
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