“You’ve simply misunderstood
again” he sighed while lifting the sleeve
clear of his arm.
“It’s a tattoo of compromise…
and my body demanded
needed (deserved rather)
a change.
Last night I realized
(yet another grand
in-the-kitchen-epiphany)
that individuality
is more than shocking haircuts
and slashed designer jeans.
And this isn’t a demeaning symbol
really.
If anything, it makes for
interesting conversation and
completely removes me from that great mirror
of conformity.
Oh!
And it is about time that
all my pain helped to line
another person’s pocket.”
“It’s nice” I smiled,
leaning forward to trace
the crooked outline.
“Really nice…
but why in God’s name
did you get one of a penis?”
He scowled and jerked his arm out of my reach.
“Hopeless.
You’ll never escape from
this ‘attack of the clones’
nightmare
and gain an identity.”
“Just as well” I lied
jealous once again that he beat me
to yet another one of my goals in this life.
I’ll be quiet and keep what is left of my
dignity
and make really bad jokes about him being
two inches short of a real dick
to pass my time. |
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