Marked Youth

The phone screen glows, unfamiliar ink

etched on skin like a story I can’t read.

Black lines twist, sharp edges that blink—

a map of someone moving fast, freed.

I trace the outline with a hesitant thumb,

remembering nights I owned that space.

Now the youngest sends pictures to come

between us, a widening, empty place.

Tattooed skin tells a silent tale

of battles fought in different light.

I’m the shadow cast in their bright sail,

watching them vanish beyond my sight.

Words falter; I am the last to grow,

caught in the lines I never chose to know.