With each dream that we dream as children,
a paradise is built. A paradise of perfection,
With no definition of hurt and none of guilt.
We dream these dreams through eyes unopened,
to realities of the world we live in.
Through eyes yet not saddened,
for the loss of love or that of innocence;
through souls not yet weighed down,
by unintentional yet inevitable sins.
Here is where we each define,
a perfect image of self,
and all love’s colors and hue.
We define our unique rights
and our unique wrongs;
definitions that then forever become,
veils we see everything through.

At some point, an inevitable part of life,
after many a hundred suns and moons,
when our eyes are torn open,
our souls stripped barren and our hearts pierced deep,
we still see our worlds and judge our lives
though our veils of perfection.
A perfection that makes every hurt more painful,
Every stab to the heart deeper
And every scar a million times uglier...
And then we all break in our own ways.
Some of us in our silence, some of us in our songs
some in our rebellion, some even in our obsessive success..

How ironic it is, that
The perfect paradise that we created from our innocence
Defines our individual perfect hell
We ourselves are the evil queens who poisoned sweet-sour apples...
We ourselves are the sleeping beauties, who, to the sweetness fell prey...
And we ourselves are our only heroes,
Who can kiss the spell away..

Tags: Psychology

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