Inked

bright colors bold lines

my memories hurts and loves

engraved in my skin

I love my tattoos, all twelve of them. I started getting them in 1999 and I’ve gotten one in every city I ever lived except Denver. Each and every one of them has some meaning to me, or did in the past. I have several more planned, along with the places they’ll be. My father used to hate them. Now he just sighs with resignation.

There are some that are not done well and some that were poor choices but they were all my choices and I stand by them. For this reason, I may get them touched up but I’ll never have them covered up. Thankfully I’ve never made such a terrible choice that I’d be forced to cover it up.

Terrible choices include tattooing by people in their garage, basement or car (yes, this happens); poorly thought out cartoon characters; tattoos on abdomens when people expect to have 5 kids; not looking at a portfolio before getting a portrait tattoo.

Even though I get a lot of weird looks from people here in Lamesville, I am proud of my ink. You don’t have to love it, but please don’t ever tell me it was a mistake.

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