My tattoo for you exists
As a reminder – once,
I loved you enough
To write it with infallible ink.
Once, I let rational thought escape my
Grasp and I dove headfirst into
Once, I was drunk on the highways your
Fingers opened up on my skin and
I was happy enough to ride them
Into oblivion, or at least
A pit-stop of longing.
Once, I loved you enough to
Excuse your actions.
3AM Thoughts // AKA “Lessons in Self-Indulgence.”
I want a tattoo of the first morning we woke up together.
I want the memory to hurt.
// Clementine von Radics
Your arm around my throat
Pinned to chest as fingernails
Scratch down your tattooed arms
Smelling the inked roses and imagining they have
A tangible scent, wandering through perpetual gardens
I want to leave marks of remembrance scattered
Upon what virgin skin you have left
Your long hair mussed and sweat
Brewing in beads on your brow
Your honeyed-tongue leaving drops down
Creamy white skin, until blues and yellows
Ripen and blossom like buds in spring
Steam rising from flesh until I can only speak
In hyperbole and rampant exclamations
Until each of my fingerprints leave five distinct
Questions on your ribs, sitting in quiet reverence
Looking at you like a prayer while
You answer me with forgiveness
3AM Thoughts // AKA “You Smell Like Daisies But You Taste Like Nightshade.”
If you haven’t started planning 2015 then you’re already behind.
One week of the WWOOF lifestyle has officially been completed. After arriving at the permaculture farm and seeing the compost toilet, hippie digs, and the chores list, I will admit I wanted to hightail it to the nearest hotel and fly home. However, I told myself to shut up and make do, and now, while going to the bathroom like a gerbil will never appeal to me, I can see the appeal of living a sustainable lifestyle.
I’m lucky to have two other female WWOOFers here, as they’re both keeping me sane. We’ve started sneaking “contraband items” into the house, (read: our own personal vices of cheese, baguette, chocolate and alcohol), and somehow we’re able to joke around while shoveling 100 pounds of composted human waste. Ah, how one week can change your perspective. That’s not to say we don’t use the fancy water-flushing toilets every chance we get, but we can see the humor of the compost situation chez nous.
Today we were pulling weeds and ripping up the garden for two hours under the hot southern sun. It’s definitely not how I’m used to spending my afternoons, but after stabbing the soil with zest for awhile I can understand the therapeutic aspect.
One week down. One day at a time.
I’m so glad I started this journey.
Today is my last day in Canada. The past week has been a whirlwind of saying good-bye to my friends and family and trying to block out the fact that I will not be able to see them for the next few months. I’m so appreciative of everyone who made time to see me.
My red-eye leaves tonight …. Is this real life? My mantra for the next few months is going to be simply “One day at a time.”
Today I brought my mom to my tattoo artist for her second tattoo.
Five years ago, when I was 17, my mom took me for my very first tattoo, a peace sign, (I went through a pretty intense hippie phase), and she got her first tattoo as well.
I figured to commemorate the occasion I would get the same tattoo she got, “Joie de Vivre” on my foot, as she inked “Karma” on her wrist.
My mom is easily my closest confidant, and over the years I’ve been so lucky to have our relationship flourish as I get older. She inspires me to take risks and embrace struggle.
As I depart for my trip in April, I will be searching for a greater sense of “Joie de Vivre.”
Not too shabby for a Monday.