these hands

Triumphantly, punching my chest, clenched fist, three times. Boom, boom boom. I need to remind myself of it. Remind myself not to judge the oddly few bad times, remind myself of the achievements, remind me of the legacy we created together. For it is through our children, who will remain once we are gone, that I mark myself and remind me not to drop my head. It was our love that created them firstly and foremost, and it is our love that sustains and empowers them.

Divorce may be hard, have that stigma about it, that label of failure. Where two which were once whole, one, could not remain. It is embedded in us from the constant calculating labelling demographic notions of what is right and wrong. But it does not take into account the individual's learning curve, their journey throughout, or that individual's successes in any accomplishments, or what life threw up for either party to face. Only the transgressions that you remind yourself of with others. Of which you are reminded through bitter disposition, and the getting used too.

So I've marked my hands, knuckles in fact, so when I turn my head down, I am reminded of the good that once was, and the journey we are all on, as individuals and partners. Whether for life or season, moment, reason. I have marked these knuckles so as to see them when my head drops down.

Anchored to my love, I earn money for my toil. That is what is marked on my knuckles, and as a father still, even to the mother of my children, I was and still have a responsibility to protect, teach, love and respect them.

Knuckle one, an anchor

Knuckle two, a heart

Left hand first

I reach for the stars with my right hand

Knuckle one, the dollar sign

Knuckle two, a pyramid.

Whether I tell you to read Romeo and Juliet, or explain our tale, this love we wrote, in our hearts book. It was truth, beauty, and justice. And like the first tattooing tools found in France, Scandinavia or Portugal from prehistoric man, this love was and will be remembered as long as there's people dreaming of an eternal light. And so it was for me.

When marking anything, igniting a memory force reminder, as in a tattoo, the pain and pleasure of those experiences must, repeating myself, be remembered in positive accentuation. Even though the negative exists, and is part of the equation, it is not for dwelling thoughts, or giving credence to. For in those memories, like the beating drum of a heart, the ever so real honeymoon period, the beating drum that my ear heard once so long ago, may have diminished through stress, cold and war. But that beating drum, like heartbeats, roughly eighty times per minute, just short of four billion in a life, will not run out, I will die before it beats out of heart. I will hear that beat again and again, perpetuating what love I choose to expand on just as I have God given rights to free will. And as such will mark my reminder on the rest of my knuckles with these symbols of knowledge learnt and experienced.

A light globe, to signify the light I wish to shed on this rare life, blessed in choice, imagination, and love. And like the electricity you feel in those beginning days of an insanity you like, worship and share. I will place a lighting bolt too. For it is the spark of genius that charges the life force throughout one's body to fulfil those dreams and wishes he or she holds so dear in their heart.

Lips, for the mark of action, for words may come easily for some, strong, committed, in tone. Others speak disorganised, muttered. But it is in our behaviour that one is ultimately distinguished, placed in the stratospheres for. A skull and bones, tattooed on another knuckle, speaking of birth and death. Being reborn to commit to a soul with love in those heart beats, placing them first no matter sometimes the price and sacrifice it may endure.

An eye, to see and be clear of intent. Warding of the falsehood of ego. Through knowing oneself and the environment around. We are not inherently evil by original sin, we do out of want. For if i want it bad enough, i will do amicably whatever it takes to achieve this. Which will lead my hand to the next knuckle, a snowflake. For as each is a complete original, so am i.

A star, to guide me in those times of darkness. Embedded in flesh through ink, in my own hand. To never be afraid of the dark, I hold calm and still in the face of adversity, feet stamped firm into earth, ready for the assault, ready to charge.

A sun, and a moon, because my soul understands that I can be both good and bad, both defender and attacker. A ghost, on another knuckle. To remind myself that in the end, I am only ever accountable to myself. And will answer those questions of pride and prejudice again to my own ghost. And lastly, a circle. Like the universe itself, circular is life, and rounded am i.

Of all of the numbers, of all of the symbols possible, having a total of thirteen tattoo’s, stamps the final mindset, the final punctuation I have to enunciate, scream in fact. For I am going all the way this time. I will not be held back by paranoid delusions, inwardly thought conclusions that lead to swelling persuasions of fact. It is not an unlucky number so perceived as such by so many. It will be my call to honour and duty, of stepping out of the shadows of judgement and placing full faith in myself.

We are creatures bound by our own decisions, not by our or anybody else’s past. It is but a doctrine of progression, a road travelled which bystanders may wish to look onto, and good for them! Not all are made to lead, but if i lead myself into a new direction, a new outlook, beware those who would call on my past to judge me. There is nothing but the moment and the outlook we search for that exists.

So onto these words I have written, searched my heart for, and now mark myself with, in blood spilt and ink consumed, this mantra, this road forward.