Fresh out of a shower, I open my wardrobe;
My clock is ticking -- it wouldn't stop, neither would I.
My mind is racing (my soul, still)
"Do I put on Coup d'etat Brooklyn with Billy Reid or do I put
on Undrest with Smoky Joe's;
or Born Uniqorn with Esprit or Karen Kane with Apple Bottoms?
Ugh! Do I have nothing worth wearing or do I have too much worth deciding?"
The psychology dictates morality -- a sense of perfection to me, a fashion
aficionado; yet my instincts doesn't act up when needed most.
I just wanna look good, not just for him, but for me as well.
And yet, here I stand in front of my wardrobe with ten cents of knowledge as
to what style to brand for him.
I open my shoe cabinet, and there they rest
My Sergio Rossi and Alexander McQueen
and Burberry and Christian Louboutin.
But without a code for perfect dress, what good are these?
"The pairing should match, for the heel is but the continuation of the body."
The clock wouldn't stop, but I'm at a still-point of managing and directing
myself into fashion.
Without any success so far, I'm falling into anxiety.
I begin to panic -- what if he hates me? What if he starts to dislike me?
"Put those thoughts away at an arm's length", came a whisper, which I duly
I click my kit open to face the reality of untamed glam.
"Let's begin somewhere, even if it's in disorientation."
Because it's crucially critical, I team up randomizing classics
with CeraVe and Estee Lauder and Chanel with MAC
and gouging myself in Nars Blush In Orgasm for tidy perfectness.
I'm relieved, for at least something is finished.
(Well, not yet).
"Go with your instincts, for now they'd be racing that you've given it a
I bathe myself in Ottanique and my thoughts punch me:
"Why? Why do I have to dress up to impress? Why am I submitting myself to his
I look at myself in the mirror,
And then in a blink of an eye, I know what dress to style in and what heels
would go with it.
I pull out a red Mossimo and team it with a black Louboutin, and comb my hair
contemporary and manage to get a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
It suited me perfectly for the occasion -- and the clock had ticked off two
hours already, when I head out to find him with another girl.
Alas, how very unfortunate...