Raising a Rose
With the first and potentially only tattoo
I celebrate this wet dark blue
With sleeves exposed to the moon
Don't you dare judge me, this art isn't for you...
Like ink on skin and ink on paper
This is my own creation
A red rose with a blue stem wraps around my arm
So that when we shake hands you see one piece of a bouquet
And I tell you something poetic like,
"Beauty is on everyone's surface, but may take decades to discover"
Truthfully I'd say beauty isn't surface level
And this rose is more akin to a thorn in my side
Hell, I can barely see my mother without getting poked and prodded about it
She can't see the rose's roots and why it grew
However I can't tell her, "It was nourished without you"
Truth be told, when seeds blew through the wind
They landed in the fertile soil that I didn't water alone
Someone taught me to be a gardener, to charish what I raised
Mom, I think you know who