To the One Who Frames the Sky

A Poem for the Artist, the Witch, the Witness

Some women don’t just create.
They conjure.

They take their pain, their palette, their stillness—
and turn it into something the world has to feel.

This piece is for her.
For you, if you’ve ever made beauty from the bones of a hard year.
If you’ve ever whispered to the wind and felt it whisper back.
If your lens is your prayer.
If your art makes time stop.
If you've ever felt like the world moved too fast—
so you slowed it down with your own hands.

To the One Who Frames the Sky

Some people take pictures.
You cast spells.
You press your lens to the moment
and make it feel
like memory was always sacred.

You’re the kind of woman
who doesn’t just notice beauty—
you give it somewhere to land.

You’re the kind of artist
who can look at a broken branch,
a purple bruise, a winter sky—
and say:
Here. This matters.
Watch what I do with it.

You remind me
that soft doesn’t mean silent,
and still doesn’t mean small.

You remind me
that pain can paint,
and peace can roar.

If this reads like it was written for you—
you’re right.

If you felt seen—
it’s because you were meant to be.

If you share it—
thank you for letting my words wear your name
for a moment.

For the Ones Who Are It

I don’t write for attention.
I write to remember women like you.
The ones who frame silence into something holy.
The ones who survived things no one saw—
and still found a way to make it all… beautiful.

If that’s you—
you’re not alone.
You’re a muse. A mirror. A myth in motion.

There’s more coming.
Stay close.

// Scorpio Veil
I don’t chase the light.
I write for the ones who are it.

PS:

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