With a facade is dishonesty, to oneself and others. A facade acts as a buffer, a filter, a screen, covering a mistruth. It’s not a lie, a lie is deceitful, a facade is not, it’s an act of desperation to conceal hurt. A facade is a personal portrayal, a smokescreen, betrayal. Perhaps a protection technique to deflect judgement, to hold onto the essence, childlike.
Once cavalier, I’m now more guarded and careful who I allow close. I’ll maintain distance if intuition whispers. Distance will be felt by others, I won’t conceal it, I’ll keep it real.
If I allow you close, you’ll strongly feel it, with it will be fierce loyalty and a passionate, loving heart. There will be no facade, you’ll know it’s me, my truth, and I will search for yours.
Black sheep. That’s me. Always have been. With age and experience, I’ve come to accept and value it as a gift. In a world of white ones, there’s a loneliness attached. If the situation determines, I’ll keep things simple, avoid conflict, play the game, all the while silently scream on the inside. Then when there’s finally solitude, I relax, back to myself, taking time to regroup, recentre, rebalance.
I am real in a harsh world with people that are so often not. Some people cannot be deleted from my life, so I create a facade, a mosaic.
Then when I finally escape, I come back to me, my being, my values, my people. And with it, the most beautiful thing.
