i haven't felt that familiar sting
since the world left me behind.  
for a while i tried to convince myself
that i was happy.

for a while i entertained the tongue
of a cowardly lion and forced myself
to forget what love felt like and let lust in.
it was when he begged me to lose my cowardice that i realized he was only in it for the golden fur he wore to give himself that sense of pride of conquering my kingdom.

for a while i stuffed those nervous poppies
into my pillow to seep into my dreams at night.
i couldn't banish them, though;
you can't escape what you're a part of.

for a while i gave oil to the tin man, who in turn
left me alone in the middle of nowhere,
like a scarecrow,
or like a child waiting for his father to return from the grocery store.
the tin man promised me care and attention,
but i guess only oz has that kind of privilege.

i haven't felt that familiar sting
since the world left me behind.
for a while, i tried to convince myself
that i was happy;
but i instead found my way
back to the black and white pains of kansas.
there is no place like home.