Painted Truths A Makeup Story
She wakes, bare as morning light,
A face unframed, soft in sight.
Mascara lifts, lashes rise,
Eyeliner sharpens her guarded eyes.
Blusher blooms, cheeks come alive,
Contours shape what can’t survive.
Lip gloss glistens, a coy disguise
Her beauty speaks, but never lies.
By night, the mask dissolves away,
Each streak of cleanser blurs the day.
The mirror holds her rawest view
Which face is hers? Which one is true?
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