It is 8:30 in the morning
I am combing through my drawers
to find the wardrobe that suits me today
It is a practice I do not take lightly
My selection process is calculated
It starts by looking internally
Out of countless emotions and anxieties
I latch on to the single most pressing
Paired with tailored compliments or compensations
An outfit slowly forms its shape
I take it into the bathroom with me
And I try it on for size
My suits are not made of cotton or silks
Stitching and fabric are meaningless
Such details can only be adorned and admired at the skin
Yet by the Designer's hand they cling to me perfectly
Gripping as well as Death to each of us
I take pause and gaze at my reflection
The suit has completely transformed me
I am no longer the same person I was the night before
My blue eyes have begun to cloud
And I cannot help but feel I am met with a stranger
I give myself completely over to him
Assuming his smiling demeanor and proclivities
This foreigner will ferry me today
Watching each of my interactions
As I've chosen him as my strongest suit
