A Peter Pan inspired poem and story from the help of a Peter Pan inspired look. I spotted this Romwe dress online and counted down the days for its arrival. I felt weird, but the good kind. I felt as if I had seen this somewhere else, and I had. Without even knowing it, I had turned myself into Peter Pan’s replica.I scribbled down a few thoughts here and there. Like the time I dressed as Mary Poppins, it made me think of who Peter really is and what he would be today.
Let us live in a world of fantasy
A wonderland of love and happiness.
Let us forget about the terrible
Disregard the tears; the blood.
Let us live filthy and foolishly
Like children we’re entitled to simplicity.
Let us fly from reality and never return
To a place much darker than home.
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Like clockwork we choose isolate ourselves from reality and egotistically build our own kind of wonderful; we construct our version of reality. We unfollow the truth that rests right in front of us. Entitled to the authenticity, we search, google, and persistently glance through the bits and pieces that have been rewritten until we find the version that perfectly satisfies our thoughts.
Those few individuals who uncover the brutality we live upon are enviable. They aren’t broken like the rest of us. They speak for us; they think for us; they act for us. There are not enough enviable souls to save us from the subtle darkness hidden in our fantasies. There is not enough justice to let our deliriously thought up versions of reality go back to what they once were.
We have stopped pursuing our own self-interest but instead expect our success and happiness to come from the hard work of others. We demand others to do the dirty work. Could we politically bring back the greatness we once held if we have lost all sense to what that greatness was? It is not a matter of becoming what we once were but instead to survive the hazy nights, to fight, to learn, and to one day become a better version of our past.
Peter Pan chose to be a boy who never grew up. He escaped from reality and refused to return. We have been given flying tricks of our own and Peter’s childish ways with pixie dust and the help of every gadget and gizmo that has been forced into our palms. Is it possible that we have been unwillingly pushed into Neverland? Or did we book the one way ticket ourselves? It’s place where reality is hidden by the self-loathing love and shattered happiness that we’re too blind to understand. We’re blinded by the bombardment of artificial beauty and the endless outlets that have replaced any sense of direct communication we once had.