A little over a year ago, I chose to brand myself with the phrase ‘unfinished & perfect’. There are a lot of opinions regarding tattoos and their placements, but the only one that matters right now is mine, and I’m of the nature that it’s my body, and therefore my choice.
It’s my choice to cement these words into my flesh. More than a choice–it was my gift to my body. It’s the words of an apology, forgiving myself and accepting the past as unchangeable. Those words are the opening refrain to an enveloping motivational chant, reminding me that I am an ever-evolving, ever-changing, and ever-growing person.
But mostly, it has become the opening line to a love letter I’m constantly writing to myself, reminding me that no matter how many scars I collect, mistakes I make, or pits I fall down in, that I am perfect. An ever-growing, ever-changing, perfect person.
If you click on the photo, it takes you to my pin of this on Pinterest. There’s this comment there that always strikes me as bizarre, since she sounds like a n00b art critic.
“the scars make this tattoo interesting”
I’ve never responded (until now, I suppose), but I always wanted to shoot back a snarky “Bitch, my life makes this tattoo interesting” or something. Truth is, the scars are exactly why I have that tattoo. Instead of looking at my arm and seeing nothing but damage, I can see a message of love and forgiveness instead. My arm doesn’t look like that photo anymore. It’s changed, and so have I.