your fingerprints were my first tattoo.
6 months later, I scrub myself numb still attempting to remove you.
how could this be the one thing I'll always have from you?
we don't talk now, after the abuse.
the writing, the giggles, hand holding is in my mind.
but your touch, your lust is the thing I'm never searching for, but always seem to find.
I wasn't taught how to move on, live with this new version of me created by you.
there isn't one day where I haven't thought about it, and you don't have a clue.
the slightest idea the way you hurt me.
calling me a slut, a bitch or stupid I'll get over.
But pressed permanently into my skin is the way you did it so easily.
again .and. again.
every "no" made you want it more.
6 months later I still think of it all.
what if he listened? Or I left as soon as you made me feel so incredibly small.
at 16 I'm learning to live with a print not meant for me, no matter how permanent it may actually be.
as you go on to the next girl to try to manipulate or "please".
at 16 I can say I was abused for the first time 6 months ago. You've now made me fear love from anyone new or old.
after it all, all I want is for you to never reach so low.
as low as possible for "love".
-
let me be the last, because I know I wasn't the only
let my words, my silence, my looks down at my shoes show you I am now only letting myself love you from afar.
read my poetry devoted to you.
let it be a lesson that you lost the one girl you shouldn't have accepted to lose.
i must move on, heal from you, no longer trying to cover my tattoo.
i wear it proud, loud and bold.
thank you for showing me exactly what will never be okay, no matter how old.
whatever you try to say to make it better.
"i'm sorry," leaves your tongue as "how could you," I choke on.
the abuse I'll live with, you I have escaped.
so goodbye, you have left me enough of your trace.
kiss the next girl so softly she asks for more, leave her hungry not with her heart sore.
wondering "why me? I thought he liked me."
the most important thing to grasp was you weren't the same person everyday.
there were days filled only with flowers and love it made it so hard to understand the other painful side is just as a part of you.
grateful for every moment spent, 6 months later I can look back and tell myself I survived.
but I do still ache, cry, wake up in the middle of the night.
but I left knowing I still only want what is best for you.
so let my last act be my words cut into you
like
a
tattoo.
let your heart throb rather than body.
let your tattoo be so big it drives you crazy. Ignore it, try and get rid of it, until one day you realize you are stuck with it.
who you are is what you did.
let your permanent actions be your acceptance.
happy 6 months of survival and permanence to me.
let your ink in my body never again run free.
--Sam Spanach, sam.spanach9 on Instagram, 09/06/2026
Theme : Others -- "Survival"