There was your mistake. There was your error. The error all women commit. Why can't you women love us, faults and all? Why do you place us on monstrous pedestals? We have all feet of clay, women as well as men; but when we men love women, we love them knowing their weaknesses, their follies, their imperfections, love them all the more, it may be, for that reason....What they are making of us are false idols merely. You made your false idol of me, and I had not the courage to come down, show you my wounds, tell you my weaknesses.

- Sir Robert Chiltern
"An Ideal Husband" by Oscar Wilde

You set me up so high
how could I not fall?

My sun-kissed personality,
My gilded composition
Are chipping slowly away.
The howling wind batters
And the boards begin to bend
Beneath the weight
Upon my shoulders.
I'll be Humpty Dumpty in the end.
You've created an illusion
With perfect soul and eyes,
It had to be me to tell you:
I am a cautious disguise.
You're blinded by desires
And I'm burned by the spotlight,
Yet another imperfection
On your idyllic imagination.

You set me up so high,
now watch me as a I fall.

A/N: We idolize everything, so much so that when it actually arrives, it turns out that we have only set ourselves up for disappointment. We surround ourselves with illusions and manifestations of what we want, and can't see through them to know we'll never have them. That, or we're too blinded by our desires to recognize the consequences of fulfillment. We're blind to any thought of imperfection because we've placed this concept on a pedestal so high that no one can ever build a ladder tall enough to remove it. And we have reinforced it enough to make certain that it will never fall.

Seems like a lot of words to describe a simple poem.

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