This series sprouted from a vividly simple thought, of getting a tattoo I always wanted. However, upon further consultation, I learned my skin would react terribly to the needle. It came to the conclusion that I simply would not get a tattoo in my life. As trivial a decision it may seem, decisions stripped away from someone already bounded by loss and identity, forced upon a time of discovery. I decided to take pieces of a poem I wrote and place them on my arm, a substitute for the permanence I hope would be attained through tattoo ink. These words, handwritten in black marker by my brother, are extremely earnest. My arms have become my muse, the words written on me, no longer anxiety or pain.
