I have the word “LOVE” burned into my left forearm.

One day my boyfriend of two and a half years said he thought he wanted a break. I waited until he was gone and then I grabbed a lighter and a bobby pin.

I don’t know why I chose “LOVE”. I think I was being ironic. I wanted to show how painful love can be. I wanted a reminder of that, forever.

When they found out they sent me to a long term facility.

When I got out, I was mortified of the scars on my arm.

Kids at work asked me what happened. I told them it was a tattoo.

I told my little cousins that I ran into something hot that had words on it.

Doctors look at my scar and hesitate for that fraction of a moment before they pretend not to notice.

I begged my family for money to cover it up with a tattoo. I wanted to forget the message I had sent myself in fire.

Then time went by, and I found no money to cover up the word “LOVE”. It became a part of me, a part of my life.

I like it now. Don’t ask me to explain why.


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