The Guest of a Storm I Didn’t Summon
I thought of you today—
an old friend, or what I mistook for one.
I rearranged my home like a prayer,
made a room for your arrival,
let expectation sit like incense in the air.
Five months of waiting
for a door that never learned how to open toward me.
I held space for you
as you ran back to what hurt you,
while others named it clearly—
enough, enough, enough—
and stepped away.
You crossed an entire country in collapse,
only to be abandoned by the same hand you followed into exile.
And when the desert spit you out,
you came to me.
I set out softness like ritual offerings—
cucumber sandwiches, folded pajamas,
a sanctuary dressed in quiet intention.
A week you stayed in my spare room,
a guest of my gentleness,
and still you treated it like inconvenience.
Eyes like blades in low light,
laughter sharpened at my pace,
as if my body—slower, changed, surviving—
was something to mock rather than witness.
And when the storm in you returned,
you turned it inward on my walls,
snapped shut like a spell gone wrong,
and left without looking back.
I held the weight of an entire sky for you
while you mistook your drizzle for drowning.
And I stayed—
steady, lunar, composed—
moonlit even in the ruin of it.
Until you walked out
as if I were the one who failed the ritual.
A year passes.
And still, I remember—not you,
but the version of me
who believed that was friendship.
#mysticvibes
#shadowwork
#divinefeminine
#energyclearing
Reading "The Guest of a Storm I Didn’t Summon" truly resonates with anyone who has experienced the complexities of offering care to someone unready or unwilling to receive it. In my own life, I've found that setting a space for healing—both physically and emotionally—can sometimes be met with resistance or even disregard. The poem’s imagery, like "rearranged my home like a prayer" and "softness like ritual offerings," beautifully captures the intention behind preparing oneself to help others. However, this piece also highlights an important lesson I’ve learned through shadow work and spiritual awakening: that not every soul is ready to accept the sanctuary we offer, and sometimes, the pattern of returning to pain instead of healing is a storm they must confront alone. It’s painful when that storm turns inward and affects you, as described with piercing metaphors like "eyes like blades in low light" and "laughter sharpened at my pace." The mentioning of "moonlit" and "lunar energy" reflects a powerful theme of divine feminine strength, reminding me of the resilience found in embracing one’s own energy to remain composed and steady even when others falter. It reiterates a vital message about self-care and boundaries; how important it is to recognize when to hold space and when to step away. For those walking similar paths, engaging in energy clearing rituals or drawing from witchy aesthetics can be a balm—helping cleanse the emotional residue left by difficult encounters. This poem encourages us to honor our own survival and growth, recognizing that true friendship nurtures rather than wounds. In summary, “The Guest of a Storm I Didn’t Summon” eloquently portrays the journey from hopeful welcoming through the turbulence of pain, ending in profound realization. It’s a testament to self-love and the necessity of protecting our emotional sanctuaries, lessons that resonate deeply in the realms of spiritual awakening and divine feminine energy.