Yellow Brick Road Trip by Kristi Brooks


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I found myself—
but not where I thought
I would be.

I can remember a girl
that loved and laughed from
the depths of her abdomen until
it hurt to do anything else.

I can remember a girl
who would do something for
the sharp thrill, so she could say
she was more intimately involved
with fear than her lover.

I can see the painted image of her face
and view her emotions as if they
were a planet seen through
a giant telescope—

But her orbit is no longer
tethered to mine.

I am sharing someone else’s experiences,
watching them inside my head
like one would an old movie.

I’m not sure what became
of that girl, but there are days
I wish she would find
me again.