I feel my bubble being prodded.
Let me explain:
Fingers, once hidden in the opaque cloud that surrounded my life,
Are carefully piercing the thick skin.
At some moments,
Just as exhaustion forces my knees to buckle,
I can actually feel a bullet of cool air strike my cheeks
Or exposed neck, like
The bubble’s been penetrated by a sharp, steel straw.
How dare freedom “cooeeey!” After such a trapped while.
How rude of the light of a happier sun
Show me my yellow brick road.
That can’t be the sound of the Munchkins
As they sing me towards a smilier Oz, can it?!
Time to lead on.
This male Dorothy needs to defeat his witch.