Thickened and scarred, my mask bears the burden of time

Thickened and scarred, my mask bears the burden of time, Torn, stained, this tough shell silently unravels, And yet, somehow, it continues to keep me alive, to protect me from the world, It was never a shining armor, just my mask, Trying to compensate for all that I could not be. Sensitivity and tenderness were sacrificed on the altar of necessity, To become my shield against the sharp and merciless wind, My mask has burned, boiled, swelled under the relentless sun, I treated it harshly, underestimating its silent and constant value, Wearing it reluctantly through this sad, often unforgiving life. I made it suffer more than it should have, under my weight, Never acknowledging its silent and priceless sacrifice, It, my mask, was there when I was not, Remaining behind me, a testament to all the battles fought, A story written in scars and burns, in its trenches of pain and silence. Will I ever learn to truly value it, to appreciate This mask that has borne my burdens with dignity, To understand that it is not just a covering, but part of who I am, A testament to my resilience, a map of survival, That continues to defend me, despite all my mistakes?