There are some people, who have no ink,
Who look at tattoos, and often think,
Why would a person, pay to have a pin,
Injected repeatedly, into their skin,
Just for a picture, that will often fade.
What a big mistake, they’ve gone and made.
The truth in fact, is actually this,
A point that people, can often miss,
Every single person in the world, you see,
Is exactly the same, as the tattooed me.
We go through life, as a human being,
And life is made, by the things we are seeing,
What we experience, right in front of our eyes,
And we all do the same thing, but we don’t realise.
We all collect these moments, we all collect life,
It reminds us of happiness, it marks our strife.
Pictures in boxes, under our bed,
A framed favourite quote, that someone once said.
Most loved movies, polished on shelves,
Pictures of loved ones, their arms round ourselves,
Decorated houses, patterns and colour,
Collecting things makes our lives fuller.
We hold on to our memories, inside and out.
The atmosphere of our lives, we constantly shout.
We chose our style, develop a look.
We decided which words, will write our own book.
In the end we become made, from that which we own,
Because otherwise we’re nothing, just skin and bone.
We collect, adore and obsess.
We create, style and dress.
We dislike, love and create.
We cherish, remember and make.
Tattoo-wearers know what we all feel within,
But they take a brave move, and wear it on their skin.
Artwork and photo by Shaun Williams, Nebula Tattoo
Categories: Tattoo Thoughts