Body Art
Lofted lance words
pierce deep
and tattoo under skin
Hide traps me,
marinating perpetually in
your serpentine bile
delivered on well measured barbs.
Small wonder I pierce that
covering in spite of
continued lobbing slashes.
Victory comes when I bleed purer
through my wounds than out of yours.
© 2000 Bart Breen
Author's Notes/Comments:
Another poem born on the memories of verbal abuse. I've never been tatooed and never will be. I assumed something of a voice here trying to understand why people are involved in cutting. An practice that is receiving more attention.
It's all about control. It provides an outlet I think in part for those who do it to say, I am in charge.
NOt sure it is all that helpful and again, it is an assumed voice. I understand the pain of verbal and mental abuse. I dealt with it other ways, not this one.
