She wouldn't try
to pluck her eyebrows
to please you
she'd celebrate it
she'd Paint it
even emphasize that
third eye
She'd paint a crime scene
with her husband
cutting her up to pieces
in response to him having sex
with her own sister
She'd move far away to France
& paint the gory scenes
a million times over
her twin with the same heart
they came
from all over to see
She'd cut her hair & dress like
a man in spite of him
I bet she went to the witch doctor
and conjured up spells
& Diego didn't even know it
but he knew well enough
he fucked up & would stay
at her bedside till the end
That's what I will do
in light of all this
place a needle
in the poppet
in place of all the pain
in those blank spaces
& chant at midnight
I'd write this poem
for relief
I'd paint the pain
and frame it
display it
so that the world could see
what I ever saw
in someone who
didn't even paint
write poems
or even loved me enough
to even get credit
for it
Frida, well, she'd just
laugh at you
& flick her
cigarette
