Ink on my skin

Ink on my skin.
Tells a story.

The permanence of the ink.
Is terrifying.
Becoming a part of me.
That I would have to live with.
‘Till the day I turn into ashes.
When I breathe my last breath.

Strangers passing through.
They won’t stop starring.
‘Why’?
They asked.
In thoughts that were not verbalized.

Social stigma.
An Asian lady.
Jet black hair.
Piercing eyes.
Voluptuous lips.
And legs that goes on forever.
In those 4 inch heels.

Visible ink.
Mistaken for an emotional turmoil.
A turbulent mind.
A troubled past.
Present.
And future.

Ask me ‘Why’.
I shall say.
It is you.
That these ink existed.
On my very skin.

This is me.
Standing up against the world.
Against social stigma.
And people.
Like you.

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