A prom queen’s crown

is made out of plastic.

I told you that when we sat

face to face

over French fries,

caffeine,

and lack of sleep

because we haven’t figured out

we’re human.

A prom queen’s crown

is made out of plastic.

The hot-glued sapphire stickers are sweet

but they only speak in lies and smell like

store-bought Halloween.

They will get lost under my cap

in two weeks’ time, anyway.

I will never forget

the way you looked at me

like I fell from a star.

You gave me a brain in my head

and ruby red slippers on my feet.

Tell me, if I click my heels three times,

will they send me back to you?

Please make them send me back to you.

You never saw the prom queen.

The girl you saw was

Dorothy.

Dorothy is a little girl inside

who’s been forced deeper and deeper down

and I forgot she was there until you saw that last glimmer

in the twister of my bright blue eyes.

Dorothy is a song

and springy chestnut braids

but she fears she’ll never be able to make

a home to call her own.

You were a good place to start,

my friend, Glinda.

You are the kind of witch

whose kindness makes the brick roads tremble.

I am the kind of little girl

who needs to believe in magic again.