You fuck like a God.
I hate and adore that about you.
You are gone more than you are around.
I’m getting used to it.
For all I know you are a God and just doing what Gods do.
Swoop in, grant some wishes, fuck shit up and leave.
Sounds about right.
I know my place in this. When the wars rage in heaven, I tend to the wounded.
Every prophet in her house. I learn lessons, breathe and see…then write.
My Gods don’t wear watches. That is a man thing to do, adhere to this construct of time we invented.
“Every piece of this is man’s bullshit.” Cold Mountain
They invent this thing that keeps us mortal and then fuss about it.
I find myself in the company of deities often.
I wonder how time passes for them, does a year feel like a day where you are from? I don’t mind when they leave, I have lessons to ponder and prophecies to spit out, hard to do with my legs wrapped around these monsters of mine. I forget to ask, I forget everything. This is bliss.
“…and then I was a young witch, whose green eyes, as she stood naked by the river springs, drew down a god.” Browning.
I just smile and ask them how they are doing. Gods have feelings too you know, and no one ever asks. They know I care, they know I am safe. They know they can tell me things. “I think I fucked shit up.” He says, head hung low enough for me to kiss his forehead. He probably did, just hold him and tell him it’s alright.
In the land of Gods and Monsters I was an angel, looking to get fucked hard. (LDR)
That’s me. Young witch, angel, sanctuary and safe place. Sometimes playing priest in a box when they need to confess.
“There’s something calming about talking to you. Like I know you mean me no harm and you are being 100% truthful to me.”
Yes darling, I am those things and it is nice to be seen as I am. Its enough.
When I grow up I want to be an archangel. (anon)
I read that and realized it’s my truth.
You want to be worshipped?
Be a fucking goddess.
Know you are doing good work.
and above all…
I have been worshipped (by men) and I didn’t like it. I see how men treat their gods. Blaming, whining cajoling, begging. I would rather just be valued for who, what and how I am.
I wasn’t keeping the right company.
I imagine my Gods like this. Ideals of mankind. Wise and kind like elders. Strong and capable, like adults. And the most important part: magical and full of wonder like children, wanting to create, explore and experience. Touch, taste and feel everything with innocent abandon. All wrapped up in one ethereal body. I like that about them. The lack of shame, the massive self-awareness and the choice to set it aside on occasion. The gods are what we used to be, unencumbered by what ought to be. Able to float bounce manifest before the world told us we couldn’t. Like bratling children, they’ll always test boundaries and reactions. And as such, they need protecting as well, I know what to do, with you. Just be here. Warm safe place. Love without any expectations.
Little girls shouldn’t treat little boys they happen to meet like little gods (Voice of the Beehive)
I completely disagree. How else are they supposed to know what they are?