She wears rubies crimson as menstrual blood
And garnets dark as the battlefield’s gore
She is Astarte, She is Aphrodite
She is Ishtar, She is Inanna!
She licks pomegranate lips with a dawn-pink tongue
And between her thighs grows a red, red rose
She is Babylon, She is Lilith
She is Venus, She is Inanna!
You may take any form you like but still those unhealing wounds remain the eternal punishment for your insurrection, only where once they wept blood and purulence down your shoulder blades they now fester deep in your chest until you cough up clotted sin, exhale miasma, until even your words are so contaminated they infect everyone you speak to and your skin so poisonous one touch from you can kill. And yet, wreck and ruin as you are, you are still the most beautiful creature in existence and to perish of your corruption is a blessing beyond measure, an honor for which many long and yet few are truly worthy. How that must eat at your jealous creator, he who made something more perfect than himself, that even in your constant state of decay you eclipse all of Heaven with your radiance.
they say “fake it ‘til you make it”
so here I am, a child playing dress-up
wearing my mother Bast’s smile and poise
Inanna’s confidence and Hathor’s positivity
and the Morrigan’s steel spine underneath it all
if I walk like them, talk like them
will I be strong like them?
will I be brave like them?
will I be good like them?
Name me Alexandria for I am always burning up from within, my ribs a charred cage to cradle this conflagration of words which was once a heart. Watch the embers smolder behind my eyes; watch me open cracked lips to breathe out ashen smoke thick as a funeral shroud. Call me Alexandria for I am a tower of fire and ruin, and only by the black clouds of my pyre might you divine the true worth of the works lost to the inferno.
[ Problem Glyphs – The Hierophant ]
bury the dead | scorn the living
guard your sovereignty
(Image courtesy of Bane Folk, text courtesy of the Morrigan, tattoo courtesy of Divine Machine Tattoo.)
drag me like a tiny ship into your chill black waters
shatter my hull, snap my decks, tear away my sails
I offer you my fear; drown it in the deep!
I offer you my hate; drown it in the deep!
I offer you my sorrow; drown it in the deep!
transform what remains of me into teeth and wrath
set my maelstrom heart free to devour the world
I am a vortex too, inside
I will never have words enough to express my love for the divine, nor ways enough to express my gratitude and honor to live in its presence. If I repeat my praises too often, or if I reuse the same phrases because no others seem as worthy, please forgive me; I am just so often overflowing with awe that if I do not release some of it into the universe I may drown completely. Oh, the stunning beauty of Hathor! The humbling benevolence of Bast! The terror of the Morrigan, the ferocity of Inanna! Oh, to bathe my modest mortal soul in the pure glory of their divine radiance! How can I not sing their praises ceaselessly when everywhere around me I see evidence of their blessing? A word for every breath I take, every moment I live, every year, every decade, every life, still would never be enough!