La Petit Mort–Erotic Devotional Poetry

Devil; you crawl into my

bed all hands and knees and
teeth and

I’m all open legs
and eyes closed in prayer–

hands clasped
to headboard–

bed and body
shaking and breath

short.

You

whisper like
every fevered fantasy

that we will die
a thousand little deaths

together.

I’m your possession; My God
you are my savior

and I’m your little boy
with hands down his pants.

Save me from my sin
with your holy lips

mumbling hymns
into my thighs

and coax repentance
from my desperate form

sweating and begging
for whatever is the opposite of

mercy.

I want the fires of
your Hell, and Heaven

is feeling you
inside me.

I will speak in
tongues and burn

with the fires
of your Love.

I am willingly
your servant–

the lover of
a devil with a thousand names

and a Silver Tongue.

Anoint me with your
holy oil and claim me

for eternity.

I got high and wrote these letters to Loki and family as I came down from it. (WordPress is being dumb, you might have to go to my blog and read it there)

——————

I wear two loves on my hands like a scale, balancing love. I’m alchemy and I think I’m coming down from my ship. My wings are burning up like Icarus’s because I flew too close to the sun. I just want to touch the stars because this Earth isn’t the Earth I know. This is cold grease and people who spit acid, when i want toes in the ground like roots that become trees for gnomes. I want sunshine in my mouth and filling every cavity and vein and pore and pouring out of me like cum. I want good sex. Like the kind We have but I wish I could actually touch your skin and kiss you. I want to get messy and roll around and muss up your pretty hair. You know I love you. I just wish I could feel better someday. I wish I were better. Im not amazing. Im angry and primitive and sometimes kinda gross and lazy and I smell funny and look funny and don’t know what Im doing half the time but apparently you think that’s cool so good for us.

Im glad I married you, really. Other people die and leave and treat you like shit for stupid reasons and make you want to pack up all your shit at 3:42am and throw it in the back of your shitty car and leave forever, maybe go to Rhode Island or something. But you’re not gonna do that. Because you want to help me for some reason. ❤ Maybe you like how I dance. I like to think that you like to watch me dance. It’s fun to dance when Im high because I’m just limbs moving around in air, as opposed to the water of sobriety. I just sway around and twist and fold and whirl around like wind or an eel. It feels really nice.

I’m sorry Im not as good a devotee as I could be. I could do so much more, I think. But maybe I do too much? Or i don’t live right? I dunno.

Your wife Sigyn is precious. Hello, Lady Sigyn. You’re so strong. I admire you so much. Please help me to be as strong because Im really not these days. There’s no air to breathe anymore and Im slowly fighting the carbon monoxide in my lungs. It’s not easy. But Loki is helpful. If you could teach me how to hang on tightly that would be nice. Thank you. You’re beautiful and I will never forget you or your children. Please ask if you ever want anything from me. I’ll try my best to hear you. ❤

Vali, I know what it’s like to want everyone to leave you alone. I get angry a lot and want everyone to go away because they screw things up for me. I know it’s not the same. But I want you to know you’re not forgotten. People still love you. We know your story and try to understand. I would like to know what you were like before it, but I also realize you are what you are now. That’s how I feel sometimes. You can’t change the evils that change you. You just accept the new you and continue living. I wont forget you. Thank you.

Narvi, I wont forget you either. Or your brother. Or your mother. And I hope you’re enjoying your quite place in Hela’s realm. I guess it’s not too bad being with your big sister? I hope not.

Hela, I know we dont speak much. I guess our paths just dont cross often. But I do respect you so much. Thank you for doing what you do. It’s very important to take care of the dead. I could do a better job, I think. Maybe you can help me to understand what it’s like and why it’s so important and I can learn to do a better job. Thank you.

Fenris. I think of you at odd times. I know your father loves you. I’m  sorry you had to be chained. But Im also glad for my life. Thank you for being a reminder to us of the things we lock up, why we lock them up, and that we shouldnt deny them all the time.

Jormundgandr, you’re a mystery to me. I hear you slither around the planet, scale sliding over rock and grass and through water, but you dont speak. You dont reach out to me and I dont to you. But Im glad to know you. You began, in a way, my relationship with your father. Thank you.

Angrboda, whether you’re a wife, consort, queen, or short-term lover, I know you’re important to Him. I feel like you knew Him at a time when He was still young. I bet you have countless stories to tell. Maybe one day we can share a drink and exchange. May I not disappoint you. Hail, Hagia of the Iron Wood.

Marriage Ramblings…

I’ve gotten a few readings lately that have hinted at a wedding in the spring. And lately, I’ve been on the hunt for a ring because my finger needs it. It’s important to me to have one.

And for the longest time I’ve been considering getting “Beloved” tattooed on my wrist, since I wear it there in pen, anyway. But last night I was kind of mulling it over and realized that if I got a tattoo for Him, I would essentially be “sealing the deal.” It would be me saying I want Him to be part of me forever. So…why not get “Beloved” tattooed on my ring finger instead?

I’m still mulling it over, researching the idea, etc. But I like it, I think.

I’m also sitting here contemplating marriage itself. Like…I don’t want to take this lightly. No oath, especially one like this, should be taken lightly. But I also don’t want to scare myself worrying about it. Because there’s not much to worry about.

Bluh. Marriage. ❤

If my fingers could touch your flesh, I swear

that they would become whole hands

groping desperately at your back

and pulling you tight to

me, desperate and

yearning.

I

have a

heart that is

full to bursting and

want to fit all of you inside it.

There are times I want to cover my body

with your holy name,

to tattoo it on every single inch of skin and

carve it into every bone

because it always hangs on my lips and

I don’t dare take it in vain.

It’s my favorite prayer

to sing aloud or

whisper

or moan aloud when

we share space and skin

or

to cry out in agony

when my head and heart break.

Times I want to

drop

everything

and give my world to you,

dedicating every waking moment

to writing love poems on the walls

and painting your thousand faces

and learning every

valley

and hill

and mountain

of the topography of

You.

My shameless

and favorite obsession.

 

I release through

tears falling from

tired and love-filled

eyes, locked onto

yours in the

post-orgasmic moment

balancing bliss and

nuclear meltdown

of the heart.

I cry for years–

freeing the fears

that sat not-so-quietly

inside me for

a dog’s age,

and you reassure

me it’s just

how I release.

World Breaker I

I know you don’t want to hear “sorry,” Darling,

and I’m tired of apologizing, to be honest,

so instead, I’m going to say thank you.

When my body betrays me, pale and fleshy and

leaking in ways of which I never want to speak again–

thank you for helping me fight to find light.

And we both know it’s a fight.

I lay in bed, heart full and numb, lead

in my veins and head full of empty and dark

because my eyes are glued shut and my hands are

white-knuckled clutching a blade, swinging wildly to

ward off the words that read as red letters on my wrist

and urge me to write novels as my suicide note.

You do your best to steady my hands

or open my eyes,

and sometimes I slip and, clumsy, cut myself,

but you hold my hands–not my mistakes–against me,

clutched in yours, warm and ready to wipe tears from my eyes

for the thousandth time

for the thousandth time

for the thousandth time.

I hear that sigh escape your lips and I know

you wish I wouldn’t do this to myself because my wrists are pretty

and sometimes I want to promise them to you, but

I know it’s a promise I can’t keep. I wage whole wars

against myself in your name, Beloved, but I know

I wont escape unwounded.

I’m weak.

So forgive me my weakness. You know I hate

to feel the sad when you see me on my knees,

screaming, defeated, but

I’ll break free of this faulting flesh

and slough off these scars

and stand up for the first time

since I was born.

 

Beloved

I’ve been passively wondering what to write for PBP week three, and it hit me: Why not discuss the importance that the word “Beloved” has to me?

Beloved is myself to Loki. I am His beloved. And I remind myself all the time. I wear it on my wrist. My blog title is a constant mantra. But why? Where did it come from? Why that specifically?

It originally came from my personal need to have something to call myself other than “Godspouse” as I haven’t married Loki yet, and godfiance is just a bit awkward. Beloved was what I settled on, but it would come to be much more important to me.

I have struggled with depression, anxiety, and self harm for many years. It’s only recently that Ive been able to really begin to break the habit, and that is in large part thanks to Loki. He was my focus automatically during BOTH of my hospital stays in 2012, and He kept me from hurting myself so often that I would get pissed off at Him, because it was so hard to resist and if He wasn’t there, I could just give in. But Im glad He’s always helped me to not do it. And while I’ve always drawn reminders of Him on my wrist as a coping method, I began using Beloved as my reminder, and I haven’t hurt myself since. I can’t bring myself to do it. Because every time I look down at my thin, pale, vulnerable wrist and see that promise–the promise that He loves me unconditionally, and that I shouldn’t hurt myself, and that even if I do, it’s okay and I can try again and be forgiven–I just cannot bring myself to do it.

During times when I feel absolutely worthless and stupid, when I feel like an awful person and a piece of shit, when I do something dumb and fuck up, it reminds me that Beloved is an Unconditional Term.

His love for me isn’t based on my level of perfection, or how I’m feeling that day, or anything else. It is unconditional. My mistakes don’t affect that. And I have to remind myself of that a lot. And it’s what I lean on. Its my little light. I hold onto it and can’t ever let it go. Because without it, I’d be lost.

And that’s why I proudly call myself His Beloved.

My Little Astral Bookstore

Last night, I managed to make more progress towards getting my ass into the astral than I have in 11 years. *dances*

I realized that I was going about it all wrong. The first time I had an OBE, I was six and it was an accident. Ever since then, I’d been trying to recreate it in the same way. All the books I’d read on the subject all gave the same method for leaving your body, which I had tried so many times to do, but found myself stuck. I always thought it was just a matter of me not doing it right, but I’ve finally come to realize that it was actually a matter of it being the wrong technique for my stubborn body. 😄

Last night, I laid down for bed, and instead of focusing on my spiritual body where it was in my bed, I began to feel myself on the garden path to the gate that leads to a town I’ve been to before in my dreams. It was really difficult for me to see, and my vision was clouded and dark, so instead I focused on feeling and hearing what was around me, while seeing what I could remember most vividly from past travels.

I found my way to a book store I’d been directed to a long time ago when I first encountered the Wiccan Goddess in middle school. I can still remember certain parts very vividly, to the point that I drew a part of the store. As I knelt down to feel and smell the books, I actually noticed Loki in the same store, to my surprise, and I followed Him out of the store. My memory of the exact sequence of events here gets blurry, but He ended up trying to help me get better signal clarity, so to speak, and come over more fully. He took my hand and held it to His face, so I could focus on how He felt. He spoke to me, so I could latch onto His voice (and GODS ALMIGHTY do I love that voice~) I even combed my fingers through His hair, trying to get a feel for that. But sight wasn’t happening. I tried my hardest, but it’s always been the psychic sense I’ve lacked the most.

I had to wonder how strange we looked to others. Especially considering I briefly messed around with shapeshifting, but that’s another story. 😄 In the end, I had exhausted myself trying and told Him I would come back for the night and try again later. He kissed me and I brought myself back, opening my eyes and not sleeping for another hour, to my great annoyance.

But it was really interesting to me. It took me so long to realize I could do it that way.

Huh. Neat. :B