I don’t want to talk about wounds—
swollen bugs—spinning waves of pain
and immense sadness nothing can take away,
this traitor world, beloved monster,
always with me wherever I go—
a magenta stain.

There is always something new to see.
Give me the grace
to make an emulsion of beauty and hope
that impels me to paint
the caress of leaves becoming earth,
the purple quadrant of your faraway eyes–
mirrors of rapture—
verdigris, the embrace of time
that flies like a bullet.

I am eagerly awaiting
the subtle sting
of truth contained in the lies
at the border of collapse.

Can you imagine
a blossoming of the invisible,
a linking together
of me as yourself,
an internal lyric
that makes the world tremble?

~ Cento of lines/phrases found in Frida Kahlo’s diary and her letters.