the body says

i can trace my fingers over

the black lines, the swirl beneath

the skin now that i have marked

myself, the lines of my body

permanent.

and the body says whoa,

surprise, to the face in the mirror

as the shadows connect

down the right side of my skin,

pale enough from the end of summer 

beneath the light

of the small bathroom 

as i examine my reflection again

and again and

again, in hopes to achieve understanding,

of what i'm not quite certain yet.

still, i think i am beyond blooming now,

ripe along the sides of my ribs,

fading shadows of the marks 

you've left on my neck

as i stretch, raise my arms above my head,

and flex the beat of my heart

in the mirror, ink flashing

sporadically as i twist and turn

myself together and apart simultaneously. 

for i still exist, together, apart,
tattooed and bare, bruised
and healing in the lines of the mirror.
and i quite like this reflection.