I’m Afraid Of Commitment, Except For The Ink On My Body Forever

It happens; you’ve been on a first date where everything went right, from the drinks to the conversation to the kiss goodbye at the door. The date was perfect… but now she wants a second one. What are we—fucking married with a mortgage? Sorry not sorry, but I just can’t commit myself to a relationship right now. The only woman I can commit to is the topless pinup of Marge Simpson tattooed on the entire length of my forearm. The idea of “forever” is just so daunting.

 

I can’t conceptualize a relationship lasting as long as the ink that’s going to be under my skin literally until my skin decays off of my bones. Relationships have only hurt me in the past. You know what’s never hurt me? This hyper-realistic thigh tattoo of my roommate’s sister’s cat. Everyone’s heard the stereotype of queer women U-Hauling, but it’s time to raise awareness and visibility for queer women who haul nothing but their fine, uncommitted ass, which happens to have the Monster logo tattooed on it.

 

I’ve always been like this. I’ve never worked the same job for more than six months at a time, which actually was the inspiration behind my “JOB? NOPE” knuckle tattoos. That permanence just scares me, you know? If I’m committed to someone, like a partner or a boss or a therapist, I have less time to devote to my hobbies, and it’s really important to me that I have enough time to work on my ghost hunting. That’s why I got this bicep tat of a sheet ghost. I know it looks like it has a boner—that was intentional because I too love my “me” time, even more than I love the fake Groucho Marx glasses I’ve had tattooed on my face.

 

I just really need to be free, and if that means, like, breaking an apartment lease four months early, so be it. I crave freedom of choice, minus the choice to wear my hair up because of the watercolor portrait of my own vagina on the back of my neck.

 

That’s just me, take it or leave it. I know myself, and that comes with knowing that I can never commit, except to the collection of images I’ve decided to etch into my physical body until the worms consume my adorned flesh canvas and shit it out.

Featured, Opinion, Sex & Dating, Slider, Thriving