Stiches, bandages and blood cover up my all; a real impetuous flood. It hurts, but I am used to this pain, when it just cuts me through. Some stitches 'round my heart some bandages I've turned to art the world and me, to fool that all is well, that all is cool. Reflection of a clown I wear my mask, my tears I drown. You wonder what I feel? Injustice. that makes me doubt if trust exists. Yet proud I feel, cause I survive and through the ashes, so I thrive Although I'll carry everywhere this baggage we all have known it; collateral damage. It torns and breaks you, así es la vida. I see myself as a modern Frida. It sticks you back again, así es la vida. And all you have is art, my sweet and broken Frida. The painting seems to shiver with a frozen intensity of agony – and yet it is hot with pride and a fierce survival instinct' Frida Kahlo's The Broken Column (1944).
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