Tattoos are less permanent than they used to be. Advances in laser technology, lightening ointments, and cover-ups have allowed people who made bad decisions about tattoos to remove them or change them. The philosopher in me goes back and forth about whether this shift in what was once considered to be a vital characteristic of the tattoo–it’s lasting power–is a positive development in the history of tattooing. I got my early tattoos deeply believing they would be there forever. Although some of them I would not choose today, I am at peace with all of them, even those that have not aged well or that no longer reflect my personality. Except for one. One of my tattoos I have come to hate. I no longer want it on my body. It currently looks like this:
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This is the link to my poem “Barefeet and Thorns” that was published today on Ink & Voices. I was very excited at the response time I received and the way my poem was lay out. Any feedback is appreciated.
I discovered a page called Wicca- Spirituality and I just submitted a contribution to the Goddess Awareness Week 2018. The question was which Goddess is your favorite and why.
Hopefully, my contribution is accepted and you can read it on the site. For now, I wanted to share this site with others who may be interested. Below should take you to the site and everyone enjoy your Saturday.
Find three things to feel
grateful for today.
power is cut off.
Wait that’s not right.
- My daughters are home and safe.
- I have a home for the lights to be off.
- Health is something easy to be grateful for.
That wasn’t so hard I suppose.
I still don’t want to feel any different about my electricity or f money
so I won’t.
Time Does Not Bring Relief – Sonnet 2
“Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year’s bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!
There are a hundred places where I fearo go,–so with his memory they brim!
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, ‘There is no memory of him here!’
And so stand stricken, so remembering him!”
― Edna St. Vincent Millay