These 2 tattoos are both on my right arm. I got the first (pictured left) in 2014 from my ex who was a tattoo artist. I had wanted the tattoo (of Joan of Arc) for a year prior to meeting him. It's based off of a design by Angelique Houtkamp.
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I don't owe you my friendship, my kindness, or my love.
I don't share this heart lightly.
I don't share my light lightly.
To be with me to with an undying flame of luminosity;
you always end up looking dull next to me.
You're afraid of my warmth,
and my ability to burn you,
and I tell you I won't burn you,
but baby, I can't control these embers...
I went through a breakup last weekend. Now, I'm not going to blog about the intricacies of the breakup, because I'm sure it would please my ex-partner far too much. What I'd like to bring up is this brilliant article I read yesterday, titled, "Dating Tips For The Feminist Man" by Nora Samaran. This article is an amazing read, and helped me to feel even more grounded and empowered as a newly single woman.
I'm really sick of these goddamn "rules" daters are supposed to abide by; mainly this one: women aren't supposed to call/text a guy until he calls/texts you first. I've talked to friends and family about these "rules," and surprisingly, all seem to be on the same page with "waiting." Not to sound like Veruca Salt, but what if I know what I want and I want it now? Do I just stifle those feelings and play the game? It hardly feels like I'm being true to myself when I do that. Also, I'm fucking impatient. If a guy gets undone by my texting him to hang out, then he's probably not the guy for me. I'm loud, I'm brash, I'm a no-nonsense woman. This has scared many men off in the past, but do I give a shit? No, because their "fleeing" proved they couldn't handle me.
Talked to my Nonno today—he’s a 92-year-old sexist, racist, homophobic, Roman Catholic, republican, Italian man. And I love him. However… In regards to my being single: “You better get looking, Chrissa—you’re 25; it’s getting time for you to settle down.” “Well, Nonno, there aren’t many nice boys in Chicago.” “Oh, yeah, no, not in Chicago. Don’t look there.” (never is there mention that my 29-year-old brother should “settle down”).