The poem moves through a quiet morning ritual: someone putting on makeup. The pun on "this morning" and "my mourning" turns an ordinary routine into something heavier, as if the speaker is grieving even while getting ready. Their hands "love nothing / but instructions," so the act feels mechanical, almost obedient, yet it's also a "journey / towards a beautiful me." The title, "Drag," adds layers. It suggests drag performance and the transformation it involves, but also the sense of something heavy being dragged along.
The last lines are the most open. Belief is "a necessity / no masters / are afraid of," which could mean that faith in your own transformed self is something no authority can fear or control, or that it's simply needed to get through the day. The mood is tender and a little sad, but also quietly determined. The speaker seems to find hope in the careful, practiced work of becoming someone they can believe in.