I’m tattoo-less. There’s nothing permanently inked on my body, no words or pictures for everyone in the world to see. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it, because I have numerous ideas for the eventual someday – and they’re pretty much all text. Song lyrics, to be exact.
It’s not that I’m still seventeen years old and telling my life story in songs. And it’s not that I don’t have numerous other quotes I love (this and this, particularly). It’s just that music has always had my heart, and song lyrics are often short and snappy in a way other words aren’t.
So if I were to be brave and actually commit to something permanently on my person, what would it be?
maybe this weight was a gift, like I had to see what I could lift
This line, to me, is perfection. It’s a little cutesy, the rhyme a little too obvious – but the meaning behind it has gotten me through some challenging times. And it’s true for me; anything I’ve struggled through, namely a soul-crushing job and my surgery debacle, have just proven I’m stronger than I thought.
all is full of love
I think this is the first thing I actually thought, “I could turn that into a tattoo,” about. I discovered this song (both the Bjork & Death Cab versions) my freshman year in college, and the line maybe not from the sources you have poured yours, maybe not from the directions you are staring at hit me pretty hard. There is love (and goodness) everywhere – you just might not be looking in the right place.
I have a picture in my mind of exactly how this would look. It would be on my inner wrist and I can picture the exact font. It’s sort of an abbreviated version of “all is full of love,” but it’s from its own song.
all of our failures are training grounds
I’m well acquainted with failure. This would be perfect for me to remember.
ring the bells that still can ring, forget your perfect offering. there is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in
This is a newly-discovered lyrics that is just perfect for what I’ve been going through with surgery. My body was perfect in its wholeness (although I didn’t always realize it), and now I’ve been cut open and disfigured (however slightly) and need to remember that nothing is completely perfect and that’s what makes things beautiful. I don’t know what part of this I would get, if I were to tattoo it – the whole thing, or just “ring the bells that still can ring” or the last two lines on their own.
I go back and forth about all of these, though, because I don’t want to be seen as a whimsical teenager with a sharpie, doodling song lyrics all over my body. That’s not what I’m going for. But I believe tattoos need to mean something, and these are the words that mean something to me.
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