the perfectly imperfect mole in the moon

there's a moon tattooed on my left arm – about the size of a roma tomato, maybe. right in the middle of it is mole i used to hate. the dermatologist sad “we can’t remove it you’ll have a scar” but i didn’t care - a scar is preferable to a rabbit turd oh my skin. my mom used to pick at it & wipe it like it was dirt that’d just come off.

but the tattoo artist did what i asked. he didn't cover the mole; he incorporated it. made it part of something cute. it's a crescent moon, actually, & the mole is right in the middle of a flower perfectly in the curve almost like it was meant to be there (because it was meant to be there - built the fuck around it.)

it's a metaphor, ig. those parts of ourselves we want to hide or hate? they can be transformed. integrated. made art. the mole isn't a flaw anymore – it's part of the design, part of my story.

we start with what we start with. we get what we get, but most of us are indeed upset. it’s up to us to this life what pleases us. fuck all else, for real. 💜