The Mask & The Mirror

There’s a particular kind of cruelty in weaponizing a story you never lived.

To stand in the light meant for the wounded

and cast your shadow over their truth

it’s not just deception.

It’s theft.

A siphoning of sacred space from those who never had the privilege

of being believed.

You borrowed bruises you never bore.

You stitched together tales from the broken hearts of others

and wore them like cloaks

not for warmth,

but for attention.

You learned the language of healing just enough

to masquerade as someone who had done the work,

but never once walked through the fire.

You called it gaslighting when someone saw through the performance.

You called it abuse when boundaries were held.

You pointed trembling fingers at mirrors,

accusing every reflection of being the monster

because you couldn’t face the one inside.

You cast every person who loved you

as your next villain

first your family,

then your lovers,

then your friends.

Each one carrying the burden of your unexamined pain,

wearing the blame like chains you forged in your own mind.

You numbed, ran, blamed, dissociated,

and turned survival into theater.

You built personas out of pain you never earned,

created characters to play the parts you thought would be loved,

while the real you

the raw, hurting, honest you

stayed buried beneath layers of curated masks and digital smoke.

But here’s the thing:

real healing is quiet.

Real love doesn’t require an audience.

And authenticity will always outlast illusion.

Some of us bled to become whole.

Some of us held our shattered selves in the dark

with no witnesses and no applause,

learning to love what was left when the story collapsed.

We are not the same.

But I still pray for you.

Not out of spite.

Not from bitterness.

But from hope

that one day, you’ll tire of the masks.

That you’ll meet yourself in the stillness,

and see you were never unworthy

just afraid.

I pray you find the roots beneath your restlessness.

That you let truth soften you instead of shame hardening you.

That you stop running from the love you claim to seek,

and instead, let it in, for real this time.

May the illusions fall away with grace.

May your false stories unravel like old thread.

And may what’s left be honest enough

for real love to recognize you when it arrives.

Because you are still worthy

not for who you pretend to be,

but for who you truly are

beneath all the noise.

-Papa Of Rose 🌹