Painting Frida Kahlo

My bones are smashed, my soul is shaken.
Paint flecks into my blood stream. All reds and blues.
Peal my skin away and display my head as a candy skull, paint a smile that misrepresents.
Confined to my bed I see the world not how it is, or how it should be.
But as a world where the monsters roam, resurging my secure need to stay inside.
Confined and cloistered away.
Painting the windows up, choking off the world.
You could find me there, if you decide to look.
Where monkeys run amok in my head, and I remain devoted to you despite all I’ve seen.
Bathing in the heat of the tropics and the bleach in the bathtub, vomiting out the apples you feed me.
Admiring my own reflection.
Painting Frida Kahlo.


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