The Mask
She sits atop her stool,
Looking into the mirror,
Bottles of all shapes and sizes,
Holding the colors of the rainbow,
Await her use.
She selects a bottle,
Rubs its contents upon her face.
Next is the powder, applied with untold grace.
With expert hands, she shadows her eyes,
Using shades that best suit this guise.
As she lines her eyes,
She tries not to catch their reflection,
Afraid she'll see her secrets,
Terrified that they will spill without intention.
Turning her head left then right.
She applies rouge to her sculpted cheeks,
With the perfect amount of flourish
All the while asking herself,
"Why must I do this?"
As she finishes her lips,
She checks her image.
Assured her mask is in place.
She's off to face the day,
Knowing her secrets remain safe.
Looking into the mirror,
Bottles of all shapes and sizes,
Holding the colors of the rainbow,
Await her use.
She selects a bottle,
Rubs its contents upon her face.
Next is the powder, applied with untold grace.
With expert hands, she shadows her eyes,
Using shades that best suit this guise.
As she lines her eyes,
She tries not to catch their reflection,
Afraid she'll see her secrets,
Terrified that they will spill without intention.
Turning her head left then right.
She applies rouge to her sculpted cheeks,
With the perfect amount of flourish
All the while asking herself,
"Why must I do this?"
As she finishes her lips,
She checks her image.
Assured her mask is in place.
She's off to face the day,
Knowing her secrets remain safe.
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