Writing Prompt

I don’t wear jewelry, because I’m not a jewel

Who do I think I am, an ornament? That if adorned Would be worthy of being adored?

If I tell them Look at me Then everyone will see There is nothing to look at And they will judge me Sucking my self worth out through a straw Leaving me more empty Then I already am

So I avoid their eyes Effortless by necessity Laidback to protect me

So the...

Ridiculous dress Such a mess The family crest Trying my best

Not good enough Trying to be tough The wrong stuff Not up to snuff

Beauty of the ball The last call Trying to stall Giving my all Tessa🦋...

The year is 1934. Seventeen is my age. My Daddy is a textile tycoon. My Mommy is the “handler” of me. Oh how they hate to be called Daddy! Mommy! — Speak properly, Leonora! Just more the reason I keep calling them, Especially today.

Today I am presented at the court, Court of King George V. ...

The words my mother says to me Pass right my by my ears The only sounds ringing through my head Are my tireless fears

My back does ache, my feet are sore The ochestra playing’s quite the bore The girls around me flutter their hair A gentleman’s staring from over there Our eyes do meet My heart began to sputter Maybe I AM ready to be a mother… 😳😳...

Quick brainstorm: What would cause a debutante to be unwilling? What qualities or experiences do they anticipate that make them shirk from what is meant to be a coming-of-age ritual of great import?

• Affectations of rank and file
• ~Bad food (or great food, perhaps)~
• Undue or unwanted attention
• Uncomfortable clothing
• Family expectations; failure of such
• A desire to remain a ...

The king is a monkey The queen is a bear The prince is an elephant Balancing on a chair

The princesses are big cats Of which there are two Jumping in tandem Through a flaming hoop

The jester is the ringmaster And he calls my name To present me to these fools one and the same

I stand in the limelight A thousand eyes on me Somehow I’ll blunder through — in a moment I’ll be free

I curtsy first ...

Guilty or not, here she comes Ms. Martha DuPont has been on the run Nailing the role of grieving widow, How’d her husband die? How the hell would she know?

Yes, she was dripping in diamonds Everything about her classy, high end They’d never be able to prove what happened Who’d blame a beautiful widow, so rich and well known? They had nothing on her, at least she thought so

As far as any...

All the lace in the world won't make me beautiful, thank goodness. It was never my idea, This coming out into the world, A mass of crinolines to disguise my shape, Arranging my hair this way, and that, and just anywhere to hide what can't be hidden. Custom is cruel like this. We must all go through the motions, The singers try to write of my youth, fragile and pure, Beauty like a flower, they say...

I am the Ugly Stepsister The comic relief the selfish foil to the maiden fair Ha!

But I was never one for dances anyway I never longed to be a pretty face I don’t want to be desired because of the way the small of my back fit another’s hand what will happen when summer crackles to fall I want to be loved with crow’s feet and laugh lines and stretch marks

let’s face it the breathtakingly beautif...

It was time. I was all dressed in white. Nineteen years old, the world ahead of me.

“You just go down that aisle, honey,” mama said. “Declare that you want to be saved. That your life belongs to Jesus.”

“That’s all?” I asked.

“Then you jump in the pool,” she said.

I never wanted to. I didn’t want to be forced. I wanted to love Jesus on my own terms, not everyone else’s.

I did walk down th...