Out of OZ

I wonder if Dorothy felt the way that I do now

moving back to a small town--to reality

to my roots--shallow and carelessly planted

not the kind I would have sown for myself.

The fantasyland clamor of wild celebrity glamor--of living daydreams replaced by the timeline 

 punching clocks collecting paychecks and making babies

We're not in OZ anymore

All spring, all summer, spilling into fall and now into winter; as if in protest

my hair-- my once reliable cascading comfort of beautiful silken waves

has transformed into a

snarled--limp, dry and forever tangled beast

My unruly mane has been relegated to

buns, braids and frizzy ponytails--ONLY

a haircut could not mend for no one can style my hair like the mayor

of Emerald City

So far have I sunk in spirits for something as trival as hair

yet I wonder if it's not something more insidious

Oh I feel it creeping--the uncomfortable feeling, knowing you're

no longer considered

the "pretty girl"

why is being a woman still such an uncomfortable idea?

I think I fear most becoming empty and vaccuous

of vaporizing into nothingness like my mother

ceasing to be anything but a noun.

Jolted back from OZ  

I realize how lazy I had been in my youth

I could do nothing and still be

of some interest to the world

I regret not learning some kind of winning charm that would last

Why here am I suddenly not young?

In OZ I was carded everywhere I went

back in Kanas they call me

Mam and ask me if I have kids

I have never subscribed to timelines

but have always had the shadow of the offical timeline burned into me

But what good is keep up with a timeline if it doesn't bring happiness?

I have only ever lived to be free

free in thought

free in love

free in movement

free to choose what's right for me

Yet a hasty departure from OZ has me wondering how I will ever get comfortable being the odd ball--the badge I once so definantly wore

my head now low, I feel like I am crawling just trying to find a place

that isn't hostile

that isn't filled with judgement or impossibility

occupied with ghosts of my upbringing I tried my best to flee--

to purge---

returned with three clicks of my heels.

I am not yet home

but there is no returning to OZ