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When The Magic Died

When I was small, everything was magic
New, wondrous, fresh, exciting, free.
Then they told me:
Don’t feel this way.
Don’t think that way.
This is good. That is bad.
You are right. You are wrong.
Confused I became –
And then my wondrous world became tainted With labels and judgments that I didn’t understand.

Slowly the magic disappeared
And the labels and boxes neatly defined my reality. Sadder and older, I plod through life
And my label shakes hands with all the other labels, And so we agree to pretend
That the magic is a fantasy
And that freedom is only for the mad.

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