Through history’s veil, I trace the line,
From ancient kohl to modern shine.
A ritual carved in powder and hue,
A tale of faces — old and new.
I speak of queens, of fleeting grace,
Of pigments masking every face.
Yet in my voice, a shadow falls —
For I don’t heed the beauty calls.
My story weaves through fleeting trends,
A love not found, a path that bends.
I question colors, creams, and art —
The weight of beauty on the heart.
Come listen close, let’s strip it bare,
The history of what we wear.
A candid truth, my soul laid bare —
Of makeup’s grip, and why I stare.
