“wear your heart on your skin in this life.” // s. plath

my first tattoo is not viewed as a regret, but by this point in my life, it’s a laughable rorshach-blotch that tells the story of a life sometimes very well, and other times, rather embarrassingly, lived.

it was an adamant admission of autonomy – chosen, with a pointed index finger from out of the many-weathered laminated pages of a greasy binder. (eighteen truly is a gorgeous time in one’s life, isn’t it? ecstasy and terribleness mixed into a heady, drowsy time) – but i digress.

it took me another 16, 17, and 18 years respectively to get my second, third and fourth pieces of ink sewn into my skin. and those too, are not viewed with any ounce of regret. they have become, much like the beauty mark on my neck and the colour of my eyes, emblems that make me – that much more me.

the trouble is, i keep finding these little markings that keep screaming my name… what is a girl to do?





➝ source : geometric arrows via tattoo magz

➝ source : X/O via neude

➝ source : wrist tattoo via the glossier nerd

➝ source : body gorgeousness/possible constellation tattoo via otaku gangsta


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