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...