Pretty Scar

It smelt
Of rubbing alcohol
And something else pungent
That I can’t quite
Put my finger on

The air was filled
With music and art
And loud buzzing
Like the cicadas
That arrive
Every 17 years
In June

I sat
In a black leather chair
At the edge of my seat
Anxious and curious
As to what the pain
Would actually fell like

I stood
And followed the artist
He placed
A blue stencile
Against my bare skin

I lay down
Of course
In a red
Barber-like chair

And black ink
He began to draw
The pretty new scar

The pain wasn’t
That bad
It tickled
My side
Like a vibrating
Razor blade
I was actually
Pretty used to it
I liked it

The old scars
Are ugly
But this one
Is pretty.