She can’t go out – she’s got nothing to wear:
At least, nothing to match the mood she’s in.
The presentation must be whole: the hair,
The clothes, the lips, the eyes, the nails, the skin
An artist does not show till art is done,
For reputation’s lost by shoddy stuff:
She must attend each detail, every one,
For “almost there” is simply not enough
You might not sympathize, but this is real.
Frustration of an almost keening kind
With naught to wear is all that she can feel
And dominates the focus of her mind.
She has a lot to choose from, that is true:
That matters not, when none of it will do
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