two

a bad tattoo. an ill-advised decision. when I pick up the phone, it stings like a bad tattoo. the one I touch because I know people can see it. I rub the center of my bad tattoo, willing and wishing it into non existence. I play pretend and avoid when people ask. Is that a new tattoo? nope, I’ve had it for awhile now. I don’t like to talk about it because when I decided to get it, I was lying to myself about why it was important. permanent ink on the skin is easier to ignore when people don’t ask. I know it’s there. And now, so do you. I’ll blame it all on youthful indiscretion. You’ll play it off like you think it’s cute.