Oz

I fell out of the sky after the storm swept me into oblivion.

There was a rainbow but I turned my back to it.  Another reminder that I wasn't home. That I was far from what life should be.

I fell out of the sky and stood up to shake the dirt from my scarred palms and scraped knees.  They handed me glistening shoes that have no purpose until I find the yellow brick road. Until I find Oz.

I guess it didn't phase them that I'm colorblind. And I don't know which of these roads is yellow.

They told me those shoes were beautiful. But all I saw was a grey mass of texture that kept me an uncomfortable distance from the ground.

What if Dorothy had been colorblind? Clambering on a redbrick path for a century until she realized she wasn't even close to home. What if she'd gone alone? What if nobody's eyes had scaled the bricks of that one-way road? And nobody told her the color?

What if I'm Dorothy?

My ringlets aren't dark like hers, and I don't have a palm-sized scruffy creature at my right hand.  All I know of is a Wizard in an emerald palace with his flying monkeys and a talent for making promises. And there are no lions and tin men stalking my trail.
But the wicked ones keep finding me. Their pointed hats and lurid sneers who want this ugly grey rubble I wear on my feet.

They want my shoes. The beautiful shoes that are nothing but a textured mass to my broken eyes. And I can't let their grimy fingers groom what they promised would send me home.

I want home too much.

And there are people walking with me. Weak people looking for their missing pieces. Scarecrows lumbering toward new brains, looking for things to fill it with. Lions pacing toward bravery with careful steps.  A hundred tin people stuttering toward love. 

All of us, lined on a walkway of yellow bricks, with each pace coming closer to that fragment which fills our fractured shell. 

Holding adhesive in our right hand with all the faith in the world that the Wizard will save us.