Two fine line black lettering tattoos on the inner forearms, one reading Be Kind to yourself inside a flower wreath and one reading You are loved in a small heart outline.

Be Kind and You Are Loved wrist tattoos

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two small tattoos sit on the inner forearms and wrists of a person with both arms raised toward the top of the frame. The larger design on the left is the words Be Kind to yourself in a black serif-style script, surrounded by an oval wreath of small outlined flowers and leaves. The smaller design on the right shows the words You are loved within a heart-shaped outline with a simple decorative flourish above. Both are rendered in thin black linework with no shading, set against a soft pink background.

Fine line Lettering Botanical Forearm Lettering Flower Wreath Heart Text

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The lettering on the Big Wheel had flaked off somewhere between Hastings and Margate, and Dad said nobody would notice a wobble in the O's once the lights were on. I had a pot of black enamel between my knees and a sable brush a man on the seafront swore was squirrel hair. Mum called it fussy work. I called it the only job on the whole fair where the letters had to stand up straight.

Keep reading

Dad wanted the hook-a-duck stall done next, and he wanted it kind. 'Customers don't read it,' he said, 'they just feel better walking past.' So I painted a garland of small flowers in a wobbly oval, five petals each, and inside it I wrote Be Kind to yourself in the serif Uncle Terry taught me before he went to live with his sister in Kent. Terry's rule was to draw the tails of the letters first, because the tails were what people forgot. Mr Okafor, who ran the duck pond, leaned over the counter with his tea and said he'd never had a sign tell him anything nice before.

The last job was the caravan. The door had a crack in the paint at the bottom, near the step, where the damp got in every winter. I knelt on the gravel after the stalls had closed, the generator thrumming somewhere behind the dodgems, and drew a heart no bigger than a thumbnail. Inside it I wrote You are loved, in letters so small I had to hold my breath.

Nobody was going to see it. The moths found it first, the way they find anything lit, and by morning the varnish had dried over the words and the crack looked like just another crack.