Inka dinka doo

"Something stirred beneath my skin,

some being inside I'd only suspected existed, 

demon or angel, I couldn't say.”

-- Ellen Hopkins, Burned

Self portrait 5-26-13

 “Tattoos, after all, are a passionate, 

usually doomed assertion of mastery of your own destiny,

or at least a defiant embrace of one that you cannot control."

-- Mark Simpson,  

Saint Morrissey: A Portrait of This Charming Man by an Alarming Fan

 

"Ink, a Drug."

-- Vladimir Nabokov, Bend Sinister

 

Fighting my demons

Sometimes I wrestle with my demons.
Sometimes we just snuggle.

Fighting my demons 2-5-13

I suppose there are people who don't have to constantly watch their backs and look over their shoulders for a potential ambush from their cadre of personal demons.
 
I am not one of those people.

I have demons-a-plenty. Insecurity. Fear. Self pity. Addictions. The Past. Failure. Doubt. Shame. Guilt. Anxiety. Rage. They circle me constantly, like cheetahs camouflaged in the tall grass. Stalking. Watching. And I'm just a weak gazelle hanging out a little too close to the edge of the herd.
Sometimes I escape. And sometimes the cheetah sinks its claws in deep and strangles me with a bite to the neck. But even if I do slip free, I know another strike is coming. Because the cheetah is a hungry, hungry cat.