Self Portrait Painted With Words

I can't draw as my brothers do, but I can write, so I thought I would do a self portrait of myself using words instead of oil.

Blank Canvas

First Stroke
Mountain tops twinkling from the sun's reflection off the brilliant white rocks.

Background
Emerald green fields lying at the foot of the mountains like a stool too pretty to place one's feet upon. The flowers are purple hue blending with a touch of buttery yellow. The color of the sky stretches beyond the canvas into the imagination. There are no clouds, just brilliant light and warmth. One lonely tree stands just off to the left of the center of the canvas, my universe. I start to paint it as a maple, but my brush starts melting strokes down the page until it becomes a weeping willow...no, wait, I believe it is starting to bloom small pink blossoms. Perhaps it will become a weeping cherry tree. I know it is contradictory to the lavender and yellow vapor rising from the flowers in the fields because they do not bloom at the same time, but it is my painting and I will paint from the heart. Wildflowers start to bleed through the soil as if they were growing right before my eyes. Oh such a pallate of colour!! It is breath taking! The off-white color from the dandylions start to blow gently across the page getting caught here and there within the field...helplessly holding on to the branches of the tree and mixing with the pollen that fills the air I breathe. My lungs filled with joy from the smell I imagine coming from the painting. I start to feel hungry and I unfold a blanket with each stroke of my brush. It is the quilt my grandmother made for me as a child. I can still smell her rose bud lotion coming from the air that I stir while laying the blanket just so upon the ground beneath the tree. A wine glass, cheese, fruit, and fresh baked bread start to appear as I dip into yet another wonderous color from my pallet I hold upon my thumb, careful not to spill the burgundy into the orange. I am not sure if I will use those two colors that I have so precisely mixed, but just in case I am cautious.

Self
To the world, I look similar to everyone else, but since this is a self portrait I will paint what I think I look like. I am tall, like the tree, only proportionate to others of my kind. The orb surrounding my body comes from the spirit that is within...it can not be contained. My hair blows wildly, red and shiny as a tiny spring that echoes reflections from above. My eyes glow green. The mixture of green I must use has added specs of diamonds for the brilliance. I will pay special attention when painting the color of my skin, for there is no mixture that radiates the olive tones I inherited from my father, but I will try. I put on a dress...soft in color, almost white except when certain rays from the sun shine upon it, and then it becomes silver and blue in tones. The straps fall like blowing leaves down around my curvy shoulders...they are strong, yet soft and match the horizon beyond. My arms I will leave bare so the sun can warm them. My legs I will paint with a delicate touch, tucking them neatly behind me as I sit upon the blanket. I want to place shoes upon my feet, but can not. I have to be able to feel the blades of grass that push up through the holes in the quilt and tickle my toes. I leave the wine for later so that I will always have drink when I thirst in my portrait. Sometimes, my burgundy lips need quenched. There I have used the untouched color here, but I must place just a drop of pink below the bow of my pouted lip so it will catch the moonbeam when the sun hides behind the mountain.

Final Stroke
The last stroke I place upon the page will be that of the unwanted orange. I will let it fall at will from the sky to remind me that nothing was left undone.