The process of shedding skin as a tattoo heals is rather symbolic. It’s our bodies ridding us of our old self. Our once plain skin, injected with ink. There is no return.
It’s somewhat of a rebirth. Stepping out in to the world, visibly altered forevermore. After each tattoo I consider it another missing piece replaced in the puzzle of my life.
The tattoo artist creates the art and I create the memory.
Tattoos are the one thing that people, my job and society cannot strip from me. I don’t identify with the culture of following such archaic and outdated societal values. At times I may get worked up about what people write about tattooed people, but it’s not a deterrent. No matter what words or labels that they throw my way, I’ll always be able to call myself an individual.
Every year, month, week, day, hour, minute and second is another that we cannot get back. It’s not selfish to live my life for myself. I don’t need someone else to make me whole. But without tattoos I sure would feel incomplete.