My Ink - Part Four.

The anticlimax.

This was done when I was 19. It's so crap and positioned so badly, the only good thing about it, is the lesson learned.

Just because it's forever, doesn't mean it has to mean everything, or it ends up meaning nothing.

The tattoo is on my back, (euck) it's my son's initials. As I've been loudly planning the inking of every inch of my skin since I realised I could (so, about eight years old) I had it drummed into me that tattoos have to mean something, they have to be small and dainty and feminine and stand the test of time.
THEY DO NOT, MOTHER!

Because, you know what? I'm not small and dainty and feminine. I won't stand the test of time.
I stand tall, I'm tough and strong and the only thing feminine about me is my lipstick and my boots. I'll burn bright for a short time on this earth and in time, no one will have a clue I was here. So fuck it. Scrawl on me all over and make it awesome.


P.S: I inverted the colour on the photo to make it remotely interesting.