On the Topic of Tattoos

When I was 10

I still wore silver sequin skirts

That could’ve been paired with plastic fairy wings.

I wanted to be the disco ball

That sent colours flying in all different directions

To the edges of the universe.

(I danced and spun accordingly)

Around this time, I decided to draw

A little star,

beside my right eye;

Washable, temporary art

In place of permanence.

"I totally would if I could," I would say,

On the topic of tattoos.

^This was the

first. seedling.

Of Wanting to Grow Up Too Fast.

For a week, I drew,

In cobalt blue, that tiny star

With markers not meant for skin.

I started to scratch.

But kept on,

Dedicated to inventing myself.

At eight days in,

Speckles of crimson bumps

Climbed out from underneath

And per mother’s orders,

That was that.

The rash became a scab.

The scab became a freckle.

The freckle became a beauty(?) mark

I never intended to have,

My own accidental pearl.

To this day, it’s there

Equidistant between eye and hair.

I’m not 10 anymore

But I wish I was.

I wish I could tell that sparkly girl

You don’t have to try. Slow down. You’re already someone.