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Lately, Everything makes me think of them,

kick-started by that episode LOST with Jack's Thai mistress
who has a knack for reading a person and branding them--
"he walks among us, but he is not one of us--"
on Jack's shoulder forever, a secret in another language.
and I wonder, does he lie about its meaning?
The only thing worse than lying about a tattoo,
is lying about a tattoo painted by someone
who sees right into you. 

Then I wonder, if John or Simon Peter lived now
in this feel good age of defilement
would they have JOHN 3:16 across their bicep?
Is it okay to mess with a temple if it's words of love,
or words that mean love?

I saw a woman with "Jordan" inking the small of her back,
four summers ago now, and I still think of it
and how my first thought was-
"that'll suck if they break up and she has to explain
to her next boyfriend why she has some other guys 
name across her back..."
followed by wonderment of the kind of faith she must have,
only to be dismissed: "probably a drunken decision,"
And I still think that. 

Why is it so hard for me to believe that woman 
loved Jordan, had enough faith and trust 
to brand his name on her body?

Scars are the tattoos we don't choose,
and I have enough of them, thank you. 
The skin stretching over my shins, knees, and elbows
could read a chronological account of all the sports I've played, 
and all the stupid decisions I've made, 
like that dare to careen down a 50 yard, steep dirt mound
and skid out at the bottom, where, 
45 minutes and 2 bottles of peroxide later, 
I was "victorious."

Different shapes, sizes, and colors- purple, pink, flesh, even white,
like a freakin human Easter egg. 

Tattoos thrill and inspire me--
I live to love something enough to ink it on my body forever, 
but for now, I'll settle with knowing i've lived enough
to garner at least a dozen scars.
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