Frida

It was a hot summer day, 

I had dressed myself up as Frida.

A bunch of flowers I knit together into a wrinkled headband 

And joined my eyebrows with some Kohl!

I draped myself in vibrant colours 

and a dash of red lip colour to go with the lace of Gold.

And here I sit and gaze outside my window 

Ghosts paragliding look back at me 

I blink twice in awe 

and squint my eyes .

And my, oh my! 

They smirk and spin,

Twist and turn into spirals 

Knotting themselves into a little girls' bow.

The heat draws a sweat 

on my forehead.

Yet, I force a smile, draw my chair closer and take a seat.

I fix my band as my eyes catch my reflection 

These clowns of smoke

seem to mock at me!

It dawns upon me then,

These ghosts are familiar indeed!

They have crept out of her paintings, 

To jeer at this silly  

imposter's misdeed!

I laugh out loud and pluck out the flowers in my hair.

Their petals stick to my forehead

marking my incapacity!

My strenuous attempt at recreating her beauty

I toss out the window and sit cross armed in dispair.

Frida calls me out from her grave, 

That shrill voice,

 with words that bear the scent of the Mexican soil 

Pinch my ears and question my grit.

"You did not understand what I am. I am love. I am pleasure, I am essence, I am an idiot, I am an alcoholic, I am tenacious. I am; simply I am ... "!

Picture credit -self portrait by Frida Kahlo