follow the yellow brick road
for it is the path less taken
for it is the path expected to be taken

prostrate and prone
accept our office and entreaties
bless this feeble scarecrow with a mind
bestow upon this rusted tin man a heart
inspire courage in the soul of this cowardly lion

take this wretched runaway home
for i am tired, great wizard
i am tired of running
and forever being protected
from that which i want most

censor my memories
in poppy reveries
i wish to sleep a little longer
if it means not having to cope
with the reality of my disillusion

knuckles cracked and bleeding
from the cold
i am the lone spectator
unwanted, unneeded
they only notice you're gone
if the spotlight shines without
a silhouette of a star

chittering and smiling and
shuffling and laughing
an orchestra's grandeur:
the urgent bowstroke of a violinist
the whimsical striking of chimes
the hollow plea of a clarinet
conceal my uneasy
temperament

observing from afar
like a scarecrow who cannot scare
a lame tin man who cannot love
a pathetic lion who cannot rule
this is not my diem to carpe

i live vicariously
through my simian anxieties
a birdseye view from
the abyss of hell
somewhere over
the rainbow

a silly girl playing make-believe
castles and witches and enchanted forests
nothing more

my noose will be braided of
the whims of my childhood

******* munchkins never
needed dorothy anyways

even he who dwells
in the city of emeralds
is but a man,
and like all men:
vulnerable, and at least
once having felt the desire
the prerogative
to not
exist