With the first and potentially only tattoo

I celebrate this wet dark blue

With sleeves exposed to the moon

Don't you dare judge me, this art isn't for you...

 

Like ink on skin and ink on paper

This is my own creation

A red rose with a blue stem wraps around my arm

So that when we shake hands you see one piece of a bouquet

And I tell you something poetic like, 

"Beauty is on everyone's surface, but may take decades to discover"

Truthfully I'd say beauty isn't surface level

And this rose is more akin to a thorn in my side

Hell, I can barely see my mother without getting poked and prodded about it

She can't see the rose's roots and why it grew

However I can't tell her, "It was nourished without you"

Truth be told, when seeds blew through the wind

They landed in the fertile soil that I didn't water alone

Someone taught me to be a gardener, to charish what I raised

Mom, I think you know who