Skin Deep

i was an awful liar-

especially when it came to 

my parents, their eyes 

always on me,

their sole daughter. 

i didn’t think

of them when I sat on 

the sofa of the tattoo shop

my nerves humming with the anticipation of

permanency,

looking over to my friend, katja

her knee jumping to the beat of the song

tiny beads of sweat on her upper lip.

soon, we were ushered in

a room smaller than my bathroom at home.

who wants to go first?

seeing anxiety flicking over katja's face,

i volunteered. 

laying down on the table, 

the black leather sticking to my skin,

i thought of my mom

who got a tattoo on her ankle when she was fifteen. 

whenever she’d talk about it 

she’d roll her eyes with a smile

i was so stupid then.

are you ready? my artist asked, 

a large tattoo of the Buddha stretched around his

smaller tattoos filling the rest of the space. 

i breathed out a yes, 

a tremor rippling through me as 

the machine buzzed to life. 

i focused on the smell of the room

sterile, clean- 

while i felt dirty,

the grime of guilt sunk its teeth into me 

as the needle touched my skin. 

i felt the vibration in 

my heart

my lungs

my throat.

the needle itself felt like a boxcutter

my ribs a tightly sealed package.

pleasant, no

agonising, no

some sort of purgatorial sensation. 

gaining ink,

losing skin forever.

when i was a baby

teetering through the tiled kitchen

i would fall.

my parents learned to turn their back on me when this happened

and swore that if i thought they didn't see me fall

i wouldn’t cry-

so i squeezed my friends hand and smiled,

it’s not that bad.

as it finished,

i examined the red patch of skin surrounding the ink in the mirror. 

guilt and giddiness coincided within me,

along with a strange sense of loss. 

this skin, 

originally given to me by my parents

grown and changed through the years

becoming freckled in the sun and pale in the cold

was gone.

in its place, the number 18. 

the dinner table at home that night 

was normal. we discussed the weather while i felt

my skin throbbing around the ink

screaming to be exposed.

until the day of my eighteenth birthday i covered the ink.

when i finally revealed the tattoo

my dad’s laughter rung through the house

my mom pulled me close-

you must be your mother’s daughter.