I gazed upon the mirror’s tease,
Its whispers begged, “Enhance, oh please!”
But lipstick, blush they made me yawn,
For isn’t beauty better drawn?
A woman scoffed, “What’s this, disgrace?
A bit of rouge could save your face!”
I chuckled soft, a playful dart,
“My dear, I’ve mastered makeup art.
For years I posed, a glossy doll,
Yet never truly felt at all.
Now bare and bold, I feel divine,
This face, this me, is wholly mine.
Some crave the paint; that’s fair, indeed,
But I’ve outgrown the mirrors’ need.”