Although this blog i technically nothing you want to hear about any of the sorts, and i would probably be the only one to ever visit this page. I find it hard to keep a journal to my self, and to chat among the ones i know. Yes i know that I am far from comprehendible, and life is life, and your more the welcome to tell me to get the Fuck over it. But for Know I will bitch and moan and groan when I want and how i want.
I will showcase anything i damn well please.
I will bitch a compliment any one i damn well please,
You find this offensive, then you shouldn’t have done what you did to make me bitch
Even if you don’t know me from Adam to Eve.
I jump around allot, but eventually i will get to the point.
I have come to realize that no matter what i put on my body ink, or needle ripping threw my skin, that only 1 out of 10 people will keep there mouth shut.
I have had nothing but grief over the art on my body, especially the new one to adorn my chest in the photograph above.
And you know what if you don’t like it fuck you,
It’s my body.
Yes, impulsive, slightly out of character for even I, okay who the fuck am i kidding, it says everything about my concept of life.
Find what you love, and destroy anyone who takes it from you. So yes take the words written on my chest and mock them, because i will destroy you to.
My dreams have been put on for so long, traumatic drama after sacrifice had clearly made it’s way in to my life, and i had to take the gun and point into the direction to the lock on my needs and wants to life,
And clearly that has pissed everyone the fuck off.
So you know what, i need to something impulsive, and instead of doing something stupid, i went and got a needle drilled into me chest, and got the words i have told my self i have lived for, so i wake up look in the mirror and know, that no one will take me alive and if the try i will search and destroy till they no longer have any effects on my life, even if the consumes a short time of it, but hey i’m suppose to have like 50 years at the least, left if i make it that long.
My favorite thing that people say are “How do you think thats going to look in 30 years, when your 60?” Who the fuck looks good at 60 years old, with out some type of cement or a home made formula of botulinum. Cause i sure as hell won’t. and at least they looked bad ass when i got them.
also when i get a tattoo the adrenaline gives me the feel like i close my eyes and open them as a new person and i can take on the fucking world with a sharpened end of a toothbrush. and i felt the need for that rebirth after my father died, the need to be a new person. Sadly it didnt work. he’s still gone and the memories of that dreadful unexpected night is still there.
or Maybe it was just a need to feel closer to image of the person i want to be.
Art is Art whether its on skin or paper, and it symbol of the time i had to grow up all so quickly, and not live the life of a normal 19 year old. And whether i’m okay with that or not i don’t have a choice. No one has a choice in those type of matters, or the facts that build there lives.
But for now, i will fight the hard fight to be me, Jaxx, and girl that is built with undefinable complexes that people are constituently hounding for me to change. But they make me, ME.
So again fuck you society and your blueprints and directions to build the perfect human race, cause this crash queen is not apart of it.