I painted myself looking up, so, the weight of the world could slip from my shoulders into sky.
Dark curls loosen and lift, softening into white vapor— no longer hair, but cloud, no longer bound to earth but free to drift, to dream, to dissolve into pure light.
The clouds are quiet permission to rise weightless where hope gathers, and the heart remembers open blue.
Head in the Clouds - a self portrait
I painted myself looking up,
so, the weight of the world could slip
from my shoulders into sky.
Dark curls loosen and lift,
softening into white vapor—
no longer hair, but cloud,
no longer bound to earth
but free to drift, to dream,
to dissolve into pure light.
The clouds are quiet permission
to rise weightless where hope gathers,
and the heart remembers open blue.