The hallowed horns

Over the years I have built up my persona, the way a writer builds her characters. Giving it a desired shape and form, embellishing it with the best. My social self is a well worked upon sculpture which brings out the best of me.
Anyone from near or far will find something or the other to like,  or at least I like to believe so. The process is a continuous one, there is constant patting into place of any stray bristle of character.
But, at the end of the day, stripped clear of the facade, the bristles and horns emerge. The emotions screwed tight struggle out. Very few see me this way. Only the closest know the horns under my halo.
I always wonder about the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde view of life. I have them both inside, as I  am sure most do. I prefer to offer the softer version to the world, yet want to be loved for my rough side. The desire is for the closest coterie to not just accept, but also love me for my flaws. Wishful thinking, but when has the heart liked a simple life ?