As I begin the journey,
Butterflies start to tickle,
After seven visits its still there, Nerves or excitement,
Still I’m no clearer,
The bell rings above the door,
Hit by the sterile smell,
Taking me back to a time,
Still I can’t grasp when,
The background noises of music and buzzing, I sit and wait for my time,
Scanning wall’s of artistic graffiti, Random but with purpose,
Highly coloured but monochrome,
I rise heading down steps,
To sit in front of him gun in hand,
Inks stand by,
Transfer ready,
Arm shaved with expert intent,
Out line on are you ready,
Buzzing starts and comes closer,
Stabbed by the needle leaving its permanent mark, So to put myself through this once more,
Was only going to have the one,
But it’s so addictive,
And I was warned they would be, Concentration at its utmost,
Don’t slip now no eraser can remove,
More guns start around the room,
Making the place buzz,
Human canvases we are,
Carrying their art with us,
Forever to show the world,
A world not yet ready to accept us and our choices, But still we return again and again, At last it’s finished washed and ointment applied, We both look admiringly,
That ok, he asks,
To late now if its not I think, But as usual it’s perfect, a gallery of artistic intent carried upon me for life,
And my mind begins to think of the next one, How many more will I have?
I’m not sure,
How long till i’m finished,
Till I have perfected gods original creation,
Ring and needles will see me again,
As I leave I tell Gary I will see him next time,
I’m never going to be a Mona Lisa,
That’s true,
It just makes my body easier to identify in the morgue, Love them or hate them,
I don’t care,
Just accept me, for who I am,
Don’t judge this book by its cover,
As expertly as it’s drawn,
See my illustrations and notice,
And if you’re willing to go past the cover,
You will find,
It’s a magical pop up book.

A little salute to my days of a monthly tattoo regime, I had only intended to get my kids names and birth signs, but now Polynesian from ankle to Knee. Two full sleeves a few on my back, a few on my chest, and always a longing for more. I came to this addiction late at the age of 37, but I was hooked. The only downside is people and their opinions. I dont enter their houses and tell them their decorating is ugly, I may think it, but I dont say it, I dont tell them they will regret it, I dont ask them if it will look awful when they are old, so why should my body decoration be open to them to critique?

I mainly got them to keep people at arms length until I decided they were safe to let in. My therapist told me there was research done which concluded it was a form of self harm, which may be true, I was adept at mentally torturing myself, and a day in the kitchen would not go by without a burn, a cut or feet that hurt so badly, it took two joints, 4 cans of Guinness and at least 2 hours before they stopped complaining, then went on to feel bruised when you walked on them. Even six years since I last cooked, I still hurt everyday with RSI picked up from working hard, a slipped disc which I only let heal for a week before returning to 8 day weeks and 27 hour days. In a nut shell I thrive on some sort of pain or another, so tattoo’s were a little more than an irritant when being applied.

I still get asked if they hurt, it all depends on your tolerance I guess, my legs were the only painful tattoo’s I have had, they proper hurt, the rest no worse that a close encounter with a nettle. That’s me, for you they may be excruciating, and if your worried, dont have them.


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