If I could have gotten my ears pierced at six years old, I would have. But the deal my parents had with me was waiting until I was ten. I couldn’t tell you how long I started the countdown before my tenth birthday, but let me tell you it was over three years. Finally the day came: my tenth birthday, my golden birthday-my so long awaited birthday. Though it was just my lobes, it was still magical.

For a while, I was content with my single-lobe piercings. But then I was a teenager.

The next piercing I got was my left double-lobe piercings. Since I was 16 and my parents wouldn’t sign me off at Claire’s to get my ear professionally done, I had my friend do it. It was quick, easy and painless. I absolutely adored it.

But it didn’t stop there. After getting that double-lobe piercing, I wanted more.

I had my same friend pierce my nose.

But it didn’t stop there.

After much time of convincing my parents, I got my first tattoo two days after turning 18. My boyfriend at the time accompanied me to the parlor. We got to the room where I would receive my tattoo and I sat in the chair squeezing his hand. The tattoo artist walked in and to my surprise my five best friends followed after. Twelve, perfect lines were sketched into my wrist. Permanently.

But it didn’t stop there. After getting those twelve lines, I wanted more.

Since I was now 18, I had the ability of signing myself off for piercings. So the day after the Fourth of July, just months before heading to college, I made my way to Claire’s to get my double-cartilage pierced.

College was the beginning of my independence. So I got three more piercings: my double helix and tragus.

Three days after my 19^th birthday I experienced my first Friday the 13^th tattoo deal. I went to a parlor near my campus and asked for an alien head on my middle finger and that’s what I got. For $13, I’m not sure anyone could pass that up.

But it won’t stop there. After getting nine piercings and two tattoos, I want more.

There are so many different opinions on tattoos, piercings and body modifications. In my eyes, they are beautiful.

Think about this.

You are born a blank canvas, pure and clean; a beautiful baby. The only story you have is one you don’t remember.

But then you get older and the stories go on.

The sun touches your skin after your first day at the ocean and you burn. You become darker. Freckles cover your face. Constellation’s can be formed between your moles. You fall off your bike while trying to learn how and you cut your knees. They bleed. Scars cover your body. Images can be formed outlining the past wounds. A scissor is discovered and you decide to cut your own hair. It is lopsided. Accessories cover your head. Hairstyles can be formed in any way you want. Some makeup is left out and you try it on. You look different. The coverage is uneven. Colors cover your face.

But then you get older and the stories go on.

And the sun continues to hit your face and more spots begin to appear with a story behind them. You continue to fall and more scars begin to appear with a story behind them. A scissor continues to be discovered and different hairstyles begin to appear with a story behind them.

That blank canvas is no longer blank anymore. Instead, that blank canvas is filled with lines of color. That blank canvas has turned into a story, your story.

Modifications that have happened to your skin are the brush strokes on your canvas. The colors show growth, maturity and life. Those color strokes on your canvas hold a meaning; some good while others bad. Still they are your story.

Everyone is a canvas.

Piercings and tattoos: those are colors that add to the artwork that is you. They foster your story in a way for others to see. The holes and ink on your skin hold a meaning, some good while others bad. Still they are your story.

This is the beauty of being a canvas.

Humans have the power to create anything they want out of the human that they are. Some may choose to stay as pure as they can, while others may choose to create something different. No matter the human’s choice, once born, never again will they be a blank canvas.

Whatever has been added to your skin, purposeful or not, is the paint on the canvas that prove you are alive. You have a story; your skin is your canvas.

And that is what makes you beautiful.