Mom and Dad want me to evaluate the broken,

To diagnose them with the disease we all have- surreal survival,

Cut open the dying, become overwhelmed with the smell of formaldahyde.

They think I'd be happy and successful spending 10 hours behind a screen, boxed up in a 6 by 8.

They would hate to see me happy

Because it's all about the money.

And if I had it my way,

If I had the grit to eliminiate their expectations,

I'd abandon their dream of me tapping on a keyboard and pursue giving strangers tattoos.

All my artistic potential will go to waste, they say,

If I distort the natural state of someone's body.

They don't see the canvas that I do,

And I know this is not what they want to hear.

My hopes and dreams fall on occupied ears t

That are being brainwashed by their own worldly wants of luxury.

They care more about the greed than the encouragement that I need.

BUT despite all this, despite the time and money I'll end up putting in to college to obtain a 'real job'

I will never abandon my dream to draw,

to drill into scars and low self esteem,

to make them think they're beautiful, at least the inked up spot ont he back of their neck

And mark my words

one day

one day

I will give strangers tattoos.