invisible ink in poetry

tattoos
you've got yours
that's fine
but I wear mine
on the inside
flip my skin and
you would find
a tapestry
marked off in time

an illustrated man
of broken plans
of high-watermarks and
custer's stands
of city streets and
shifting sands
that sent me home to hinterlands
alone without a country
a throne of rotting birch trees
and momentary victories
that fade with tainted memories
vast wasted potentials
last uncertain futures
spelled out in the sutures
that lay beneath this suit here
flip my skin and
we'll begin
to spell the story out in sins
that went uncommitted
ended up regretted
tires that went untreaded

these unrequited might have beens
burnt into my flesh
ink carved on with Bic pen
beaten in with festering welts
beaten into the other side of myself
while my skin stays kitchen clean
and you can have your scene
but my tales say inside of me

maybe you're healthier for externalizing it
maybe I'm just a dirty fucking coward
not wanting to own it on the surface
not wanting to give them that power
when they hold so much sway
already inside me today
but that's old news
you've got yours and
I've got my
tattoos