the black lines, the swirl beneath
the skin now that i have marked
myself, the lines of my body
permanent.
and the body says whoa,
surprise, to the face in the mirror
as the shadows connect
down the right side of my skin,
pale enough from the end of summer
beneath the light
of the small bathroom
as i examine my reflection again
and again and
again, in hopes to achieve understanding,
of what i'm not quite certain yet.
still, i think i am beyond blooming now,
ripe along the sides of my ribs,
fading shadows of the marks
you've left on my neck
as i stretch, raise my arms above my head,
and flex the beat of my heart
in the mirror, ink flashing
sporadically as i twist and turn
myself together and apart simultaneously.
for i still exist, together, apart,
tattooed and bare, bruised
and healing in the lines of the mirror.
and i quite like this reflection.
