So tell me what’s the cause
For love and even loss
Standing in between a dream and a foggy memory
I’m feeling smaller as myself
Disappointing you is always the greater cost
Trying hard to repair the damage done
when done in fear
I painted colors of myself
You smeared the black and brought the gloss
I’ll shine it specifically for you
Remembering the black rather than the hue
Your body was growing weak
You couldn’t sleep; I couldn’t sleep
Slanted legs and half hearted barks
-please just let me hear your bark-
A little off from the rest of the pack,
but don’t let that fool you he never slacked
Protector of his family
Guardian of the house
A dog of his own,
but his love is stronger than stone.
Don’t be afraid, you won’t be alone
Your sister will be greeting you at the gate
Go to her peacefully, her paws rest your fate.
We’ll carry your heart wherever we go
Running through fields of grass
or ground covered in snow
The bees we’ll chase, in remembrance of you
By God’s good Grace, always know this family was blessed because of you.
Joan Didion once said, ” Writers are always sell somebody out.” I believe this is one of the few statements that hold absolute truth inside of it.
I think the time for me to publicly show some of my writing is finally here. Slowly of course. With that said, here is a little poem I whipped up
Where is my passion found?
Stolen my youth from underneath me; lost a couple years, let them gone beneath me.
Over a selfish mind, a careless man.
Here I am now; I know where I stand,
in a life that’s only mine, silhouetted by the sky.
I cannot put into words the immense meaning tattoos have on me. For as long as I can remember, I have been a fan of all types of art. This ranges from films to books to music to Claude Monet. My senses can pick up something so quickly and be truly moved in that one spectacular instant.
I am a woman guarded with a mind. People do not see me as very strong. I am judged, just like the rest of you. I have had weak moments in my life. I learned. You need experience to learn. Yes, I have regretted actions, but I have never regretted my mind. A few months ago, I wrote an essay on nature reflecting my life and my grandmother, which is what sparked my connection and motive with the Native American spirit. Being somewhat of a feminist, I have become obsessed with the idea of getting a Native American woman tattooed on my arm. She will be my warrior. My art. My inspiration. She will be the trigger that is pulled to remind me of myself. To never lose myself. I will repeatedly be moved in those spectacular instances of our eyes meeting.
Sunflowers will surround her. This idea derives from a painting my grandmother created, similar to both Van Gogh’s and Monet’s. I have a strong connection with my grandmother. I don’t know what it is, but I never believed in anything more. Sometimes I just feel her presence or visit with her in my dreams. I feel very similar to the person that she was. I take pride in that, and have always been fascinated with the Cherokee Indian descent in my blood that comes from her.
A compass will be on the back of my arm. A compass that is small and simple. This is to remind me of home. To always go home. To always remember my home. That I will always have a place to call home. Because of my loving family, I can always go home. My family is my home. I couldn’t imagine a better home than the one I’ve been blessed with.
Now, people can look at your tattoos and judge you by them. They can dislike them. Too bad, the value and meaning is yours and yours to keep. You can say “You’ll regret getting that when you’re older.” I’ll awkwardly laugh and shrug my shoulders in response to you. How could I possibly ever regret my true self, the memory of my grandmother, and my home?
Tattoos are a permanent way to continuously be moved by art.
My mind is wiser than your weak judgements.