Run
I’m Frida Kahlo.
They say I’m one of history’s greatest artists.
Let’s talk about your stupidity.
You have little pain, Colleen.
After my bus accident,
I was constantly hurting.
I once wanted to pass down
my flower crown
to you,
but now
I don’t.
You were the future of art,
the visual voice of a generation,
a woman in impermanent obscurity.
The real deal.
I was ready to give you the crown
as a “keep in there” type present.
However, you got hit by a train.
Yours was an on-purpose,
not an accident.
I wanted an adventure,
not a life with outrageous
bodily agony.
To jump in front of a train
is to force somebody to kill you.
So, with this second chance at life
that God gave you,
warn people not to lose sight
that somebody is conducting the train.
Tell them the engineer doesn’t want
the bloody corpse on their tracks.
Nightmares that night for the conductor,
if not all nights.
And so you lived,
the only thing that
makes this okay.
This is a second chance.
Let down that matted hair.
Let those locks take to the wind.
Paint, paint, paint.
And run far away from that train.