Skin

As I was researching body art and different cultural perspectives on this topic, the creative spark set my mind aflame. I began thinking of body art as a mark of identity. I wanted to write something about an individual claiming the right to an identity, overcoming suppression and turmoil in order to get it, and finally feeling the freedom and satisfaction that the identity brings. I thought it was some kind of cycle, a metamorphosis that one goes through.

And so, this poem was born:


Skin

'Tis a sin
To alter the skin,
The elders say.

Obey this holy example:
The body is the temple;
The soul the altar.

'Tis a crime
To pillage this shrine.
A savage sacrilege.

The gift of free will
Sits dormant and still,
Shackled by sanctity's sanction.

Yet still you
Want, crave, do
What you will.

Somehow, you escape.
You rape
Your temple.

Penetrate your flesh,
Letting the elements mesh
From the needle.

A piercing, a tattoo.
This taboo
Inflames your soul.

A scar, a mar.
They say you've gone too far.
And so you die.

Hellfire.

Your insides Turn.
Cowardice and malice burning -
Ashes in an urn.

Dust to dust,
But you must
Rise as sinew, shadow, smoke.

Rise, Avian. Emerge.
Brilliance and light take flight on the verge.
Breathe in the breeze.

No longer tame
From shame, from blame,
You shine brighter than the shrine.

'Tis a sin
To alter the skin.
Yet 'tis sin that seeps in the skin.

This truth the elders deny.
You must defy them and purify
The self to save your skin.

Only then shall you win.