June 19, 2025
Filtered truth and hypocrisy don’t just distort the story—they erase the blood, rewrite the roles, and let the guilty pose as the blessed.
It’s a strange thing—
watching someone dust off a crown they stole
and wear it like they earned it.
They speak of blessings,
post about timing,
insinuate waiting,
sell disaster as destiny
and the wreckage as divine favor.
But some of us remember the blood under the rug.
Some of us read the fine print behind the fairytale—
the late-night whispers,
the door that never closed all the way,
the home that cracked from the inside out
a fracture in a place where family was,
while someone else waited in the shadows
already moving in.
And now, they claim virtue.
Now, they tell the story with the spotlight pointed just so.
They forget the weeping.
The trail of tears streaming down faces without a clue,
They forget the one who begged for mercy
while they rehearsed how to smile in pictures.
Bought some shovels
and dug holes for the skeletons in the closet.
But injustice doesn’t need a headline to be real.
And hypocrisy doesn’t need to shout—
it just needs a filter,
a platform,
and no one brave enough to remember out loud.
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