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She didn’t want to be beautiful.
She wanted to be real.
She dressed like a garden but spoke like fire.
She made her face her canvas,
her story her palette.
Never passive. Always painted.
She embroidered her defiance in flowers,
with a black that never meant sorrow.
It was her backdrop for blooming.
Yes,
you got it right.
It’s Frida Kahlo.
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