This scar upon my skin,
You know, the one you call a sin?
Is a stain of my past and memories,
Forever inked and scalpeled into a part of me.
This body of mine just doesn't feel right,
Until a scar, a needle, or ink sheds its light.
If you call it abomination or disrespect,
Perhaps you should consider the side effect.
I'm growing more comfortable in my own skin,
Through this life which you claim is living in sin.
Artwork adorns every inch of my flesh,
Along with some piercings here and there, many still fresh.
I will look how I want to look whether it makes me appear insane,
At the very least, maybe more people will remember my name.
This is my life, the way I choose to live,
Yet your insignificant opinions you continue to give.
Get used to this "mess" introduced to your life,
Your child, now modified, no longer living in strife.