Why do I do this to myself?

I wish I could tell you that I had some deep philosophical theory about why I pay someone to torture me for hours on end to have an image etched into my skin for the rest of my life, but I don’t. I don’t know why I get tattoos. I just know that every couple years something strikes me so profoundly emotionally that I feel it must have a physical manifestation.
THIS tattoo was actually an evolution of a previouw piece. THe year my divorce was finalized was tragic but still triumphant in many ways. I had to rip apart my family, set who I was ablaze and find a new reincarnation of myself. A phoenix it seemed was the right represntation of what I had just gone through. At the time I had the tattoo done, I was all about pushing through, surviving and being strong in some very, very dark times. THe tattoo itself was obscure. It was vaguely a phoenix and it was dark as if rising from the ashes but still being covered in soot. I had it plassed to left of my spine and behind my heart, where I think a spirit might reside if it had a physical place in your body. As the years have passed though, I have really found out exactly what kind of phoenix I am, I’m a lot more than just a survivor. I’ve found my wings, myself. I’ve learned how to fly. To soar. Thus, the tattoo needed to as well. It needed COLOR and love and soar…
And so now, it does.
“Fascinating creatures, phoenixes. They carry immesnsely heavy loads, their tears having healing powers.” – JK Rowling
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