The Venus Devotee

hi there!

my name is venus, and i'm 26F living in NYC. i'm a pagan witch, dedicated poet and a gamer! i reblog: all things beautiful and all things dedicated to my gods, some fandom mixed in here and there, namely madoka magica frieren: beyond journey's end hades (current fixation) bg3 (latest past fixation) stardew (forever fixation)

feel free to follow/ask if you have any questions about aphrodite, hermes, deity worship, tarot, or anything else witchy! fandom asks are more than welcome too.

Sometimes I do free one card tarot pulls- STATUS: CLOSED

my friends are starting not to like you. we're not dating, and I don't think you'd care, but still, it's pointed out to me any time I recount a time where you've acted carelessly.

"you're too kind to him," they say,

"he doesn't deserve your love."

and I know they're only trying to protect me, my soft heart, my well-spring of grace and second chances, but I just wonder,

does the household cat, who yowls and hisses, and scratches your hands raw, skin broken, any less deserving of love?

does the child who kicks and screams, stomping and yelling I HATE YOU!! in your face, any less deserving of care?

does the student who turns the homework in empty, thankless and ignorant, any less deserving of direction?

does the trapped girl, locked away for years and lost in a man's clothes, is she any less deserving of a voice? of connection?

In a garden of flowers, I just wanted to hold your hand and see you smile. I wanted to pause, showing you all of the prettiest things, marvel at every color, every sight, every sound, every smell with you, but now I'm afraid you'll tell me you don't much care for flowers at all.

What happened to your eyes, once so discerning and sharp with attention, now glazed over and hard looking anywhere else?

I feel you see right through me now, annoyed I'm only blocking your view of whatever lies past me, as though I'm just an obstacle in your way, mildly tolerated, hardly seen

I feel the doors closing in on me where once I was welcome, celebrated I thought you wanted me here. I thought you wanted me.

But maybe I was wrong. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe I'm the one who was always mistaken. I just don't understand, I wish I could understand.

Do you still want me here? Am I still someone you want to be close to? Or did my being human shatter the dream I thought we both shared?

In every poem, a measurement of my grief, Lover turned caricature turned idea,

because to have loved is to have lost, to grieve is to have loved at all.

writing for him, an endless monologue of loss; easier than writing for you, a new muse, rife in her presentness, possibility, a different, unknown outcome.

a future that could exist, a concept still so foreign but seems closer to touch.

Dearest Lover, you don't yet know the power of love, so divinely ordained-- the yearning, the poetry of it so deep it changes the texture of your skin, the very body you're living in a love so precious, the heretics call it sin

I ride through the tunnel, and it's dark the whole way the journey to the destination never sure lest its certainty ruin our Lady's sport.

You see the beauty in me, through all the cracks no one can see, so Lover, if you cannot see yourself I will be your mirror, reflecting back all that you've given me and more, Love and beauty in turn, I see you.

If you cannot look at yourself, let my love be your eyes for my heart is blind so that I may see only you.

Shaking up the snowglobe of my fragile mind, this feeling, the flakes of memories, past emotions, heartbreak and song lyrics on lonely nights, all come forth to the front of my psyche, like a radio tuning in and out, water distorted from the other side.

What am I to parse from it all, the noise from the past blending into the melody of the present,

all I want is now, all I want is you, alone together in this moment immemorial

where love persists in the long quiet, the time between all of my doubts, the time between all of your fears

I want to live in the warmth and moonlight of your gaze, your affection, shrouded in sharp humor and wit like a whip in every quip, my giggles burst out like bubbles in a dappled haze, I wake up and fall back asleep to voices in variations of crazed.

I love you so deeply in a way I find it hard to describe-- I can write sonnets, haikus, pages and pages for him, an endless fount of bleeding feelings that go unnoticed, unheard, unfelt, unknown, all to waste, but for you,

This love is new.

New love, familiar feeling that I've only had once before Different from last time, deeper than last time, Something so close to actually touch, an ocean to explore once more.

It scares and thrills me.

Standing as a girl at ocean's edge, scared but not frightened, I can feel the water lapping at my feet again where once the sand was bone dry,

It tickles my toes, cold and startling at first but warms to smooth honey as it dips past my hips

I want to dive deeper, fully immerse myself whole and all at once, but I worry for fear of drowning you, caught in the waves of a tsunami for now the tension too great, the pressure too high

But I love you, and I love you, feeling back to when I loved for the first time,

It wasn't a quiet, slow choice. It was an event, sudden, loud, and all at once--

the weight of it entirely on my chest, dying to be let out to scream, to jump, to leap for joy,

something impossible to ignore impossible to miss.

Big and loud and beautiful, undeniably true.

I walk the line between reality and fiction, taking steps that are no longer my own moving forward back into time with every step I take on these borrowed streets.

On the same earth now, but I still will never see you hand gripping the bus tray in front of me white knuckled and angry that I could be so close and yet so far from wherever you are seeking where you are from where you've only been, I don't know anything else— palming through the dark on these cobbled roads

Rolling green hills and shires, a whole society built around the land, not bastardized atop it reminding us that we are all animals here.

Looking through the windowpane I sat miserably going to places that weren't anywhere close to you I didn't know you could still be farther yet.

And even then, if I finally land myself there, in sacred pilgrimage to the place part of my heart was left behind could it still be you I find?

I can never know that answer, for I doubt I shall ever find it, chasing ghosts of what used to be, shadows of what could've been seeking out some sort of solace.