Hidden little pleasures

If I'd afford to be as I imagined, I wouldn't write anymore.

They told me I was young
So the bitter sense of maturity overwhelmed me.
They told me I was innocent
So the sweet air of reality covered me.
They told me I was ignorant
And the filthy sorrow books fed me,
They told me I was sad
And the good things started pouring,
They told me I was kind
While my ego went on growing,
They told me I was unable
But the heavenly glory faded their confidence.
They said I had no time left
But while building my own
I lost myself.