Poetry: for the dom who is a storm chaser at heart ❤️🌪️
The storms will come and go,
but not all storms ask to be escaped.
Some ask to be watched
with steady eyes,
to be met at the edge
where the sky breaks open
and the air learns your name.
It is only you who has control
not over the storm,
but over whether you run from it,
or stand close enough
to understand its language.
One descends
because the dark has always spoken fluently.
One holds the line
because chaos, when it trusts you,
becomes almost sacred.
So look the storm in the eye.
Do not make it smaller.
Do not ask it to soften
before you are willing to see
what it carries.
There is a kind of trust
that only forms
where the sky is breaking,
and a kind of surrender
that only becomes safe
in hands
that do not shake.
The storms will come and go.
The depths will rise and pull.
But there are moments
when surrender is not a fall,
but a recognition:
that the body can become weather,
that the mind can become ocean,
and that being held
by the one who does not look away
can feel less like capture
than coming home
to the only hands
out of all of them
that knew exactly how deep
you wanted to dive,
into that vast, dizzying ocean
you have always feared,
where even surrender
begins to feel less like drowning
when the anchor
has hands
you have come to know.