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.