My Makeup Kit

In the profundities of first light, as the world blends,

I go after my cosmetics pack, a mother lode so unadulterated.

Inside its holy limits, mysteries do live,

A range of conceivable outcomes, where dreams and wants correspond.

To begin with, the establishment, a material immaculate,

A cover to veil flaws, yet uncover the concealed.

With each stroke, a story unfurls,

Of flexibility and strength, of stories untold.

Then, the blush, a tint of ruddy enjoyment,

To revive cheeks, to set hearts land.

A dash of warmth, a touch of effortlessness,

An impression of delight, upon my face.

Then, at that point, come the eyes, windows to the spirit,

Where shadows dance, and dreams roll.

With a flick of the brush, I paint my reality,

In shades of boldness, in tints of youth.

Lips like petals, painted with care,

A murmur of variety, a quiet supplication.

They talk about adoration, they sing of trust,

In each bend, a universe to run off.

Lastly, the final detail,

A cleaning of powder, a cloak so grasp.

To seal in the wizardry, to secure in the sparkle,

A demonstration of the magnificence, that main I know.

However, past the powders, past the creams,

Lies the embodiment of excellence, a long ways past dreams.

For genuine brilliance, it comes from the inside,

An impression of the spirit, where magnificence starts.

Thus, as I enhance myself in this custom heavenly,

I embrace my defects, I let my light sparkle.

For in this cosmetics unit, I track down not simply workmanship,

Be that as it may, the ability to embrace, the excellence of my heart.