her gown whispered as her feet brushed the sand and the hemline washed up on the beach with the rest of her sorrows. her skin feeling as silk and satin as the waves themselves, drifting away across the dark mountain air. caressing her. always.
The gown was way too expensive, but I wanted it. The rent must always be paid. My mother always warned me about this kind of thing, but at that moment, I could care less. I wanted to look good for him, rent be damned! He would have to leave her after he saw me in this gown, any man would. Walking away was not an option. I silently prayed that the fantasy would play out as I was so desperately hoping it would.
Her gown did not fit quite right. It was a bit….too tight. Not flattering. She began to freak out. This would be horrible. Everyone would laugh and laugh and laugh when she walked in and she would have to run out crying. She doesn’t have the money to go out and buy another one. She can’t return this one either. She’s not going to the party.
On my wedding day I dove into my gown.
Shannon cheered me on. Mom zipped me up. I was giddy with joy. But also nervous about marriage. After being so certain it all seemed so fast and tentative and was this really what I wanted to do? Then my sisters helped me go to the bathroom in my poofy dress and I remembered I was loved.
Flannel nightgown. That reminds me of like, old Christmas movies where that’s what everyone wears to bed, apparently. Scrooge wore one. And it reminds me of old women, because I think they really do wear those to bed. They don’t seem very comfortable. They’d get wrapped around your legs when you moved and would probably end up all hiked up by the time the morning came around..not worth it.
She knew who I was. I could tell she remembered me. I remembered her too, her silk purple gown brought many foggy memories. Memories of me running in the fields with her, and my brother. Memories of her and my real father.
I am wearing a gown for the first time
I don’t like them all too much
Plus this clashes with my shoes
I don’t know why I shaved my legs for this gown
I just want to get out of my drag and smoke a cigar.
I much prefer my slutty dresses.
She was wearing her pink silk gown as she fell down the oak woo d stairs. I knew that would be the last time I’d see her. I never would forget her last words. “I love you”
I don’t like the word “gown”. To be honest, I think it’s just the fact that it has a G in it. I’ve never been much for the letter “G”. While everyone else favors the word “gorgeous”, honestly, if anyone ever called me gorgeous, it would be over right then. Nope no, that would certainly be the end of that. Why not use the word “lovely”? Now that’s something I’d like to hear.
Although very uncomfortable to her, she wore it anyways. She didn’t like her wedding gown. It never really felt… natural… to her. She even preferred to wear her night gown! She felt awkward and unsteady wearing it, as though deep inside her, her love for this man may also be hiding behind it’s own gown. And soon the night gown turned from comfort to memory, and the soon the wedding gown turned from symbol to shield. And the woman became rock hard in that moment, covered in her own shell of unwanted love.
you could wear a gown of moons, she said. and when you lay tonight, when you see the moonset, you could rise in morning, wearing nothing but the transparent bitter hardships of future months, wearing nothing but the howls of mourning wolves.
Dancing around in your beautiful gowns, oh how I wish I was you. You don’t understand how lucky you are, how privileged. If I were you, I would never get out of those gowns. I would feel beautiful forever.
It was stunning. She was stunning. The gown fit like a glove and was the color of the sky in the early morning. Off the shoulder it was backless, showing her tattoo with pride. It went against her mother’s wishes, to see that beast lurking on her shoulder. To see it staring back at her. But even so, she was stunning. The gown was the perfect match for her.
and so it flowed along the newly waxed and cleaned and polished floor, just for the occasion. it have layers upon layers of beauty and she felt exquisite. as did he.
The veil didn’t quite cover her tears. As she slipped her hands into her pockets (remembering her mother’s odd look as she sent dress after dress away for their lack of them) her fingers close around the knife.
She looked like a beautiful sea goddess
My sister in law
Wearing a pale sequined gown the color of
Flower stems and sky.
Underneath the gown, deep within the caverns
And folds of her body, my nephew lay growing
Living underneath layers of love
The gown on the girl was splendid. It changed to be whatever the looker thought was most beautiful. All the girl saw were tied together rags, and nothing else.
I bought my mother a nightgown for Christmas when I was young. I couldn’t keep the secret for longer than three days. I’m the same today as I was then; I can’t keep nightgowns hidden for long.
Her dress was the most magnificent thing he’d ever seen. Tumbling satin and rivers of lace made the fabric glow. The dress itself was merely a sight to behold-yet when she wore it, the gown shone brighter than the brightest star in the sky.
The mornings when my daughter, restless and bounding with energy, thrusts her arms deep into the boxes and returns laden with scarves and silks, tiaras and gowns and hats of all sorts, are tiring fun. She cavorts, dressed in six layers, singing words to a tune that only she knows.
I don’t enjoy wearing gowns. I don’t feel like myself. I’m parading a persona of a poised, eloquent woman who can navigate social politics and current events. A beautiful person? Yes. Just not the person that I am.
It’s something a woman usually wears when she goes somewhere special or exciting. It can be her wedding, a party, a dance, etc. It’s supposed to make the girl feel more beautiful where a lot of people are present.
The gown was white. I tried so many on, but this one was the one that was the one that beat them all. The funny thing, I didn’t even want to try it on, because it was so not me. I should of known by then that I did not have the best thought of what looked good on me in dresses.
Did I love it, yes but this gown was what would make my life s a grown person. Could they call it gown because it is the image of being gRown.
The gown was white, and the colors were purple. I am gRown in gown.
The water swirls around the fragments of a ball gown in a square drain. Or a prom dress. Or some strand of sequins from a department store. The man who found it is in a tuxedo. Or maybe royal raiment. Maybe he’s a prince. Or maybe he’s a lost soul.
Beside the scraps of fabric is broken glass. It used to fit a foot. But the ankle’s now broken and the pirouette’s awkward and clumsy and disjointed. The slipper’s no good now.
she walked silently down the hall trying not to make a sound her gown slowly grazing the floor she didn’t want her parent to see our hear her leaving them and there lives for good.
Trying to get the horse to move was never easy, but this day Patsy was having a particularly impossible time with his increasingly intransigent nag.
“I’ve told ya, ya, ya bastard, move would ya! If I have to get off this cart I’ll be dug outta ya. Have ya seen the state of the road? If I get down now I’ll ruin me gown. Ya inconsiderate lump of shite. I shoulda brought you to the knackers yard years ago!”
I twirled around and looked in the mirror.
“It’s beautiful Brita.” I breathed. My long hair hung at my waist, making the gown look even whiter then it should of had. Brita blushed
“I thought you would be used to fancy gowns.” she said humbly. “Nothing I can make is better than what you had before.”
“Oh Brita,” I laughed joyously, “it’s better than any gown I ever had, thank you for making it for me.”
She slipped on the gown. It was beautiful, the dress she had really wanted.
And now was the day that she was going to get to wear it. This was the day she had been waiting for ever since she had met him. He was her Prince Charming. Oh how she loved him. It was like nothing else.
There is no peaceful death dressed in the gown of a deadly beauty. Once the king of death has suppressed the light in your every breath, the sorrow in your tears, frozen to your flesh, begin to nourish the struggle of the darkening nights of your soul.
And there she stood, in my doorway, dressed in a red gown. Her dark brown hair had been pinned up in an intricate fashion. She wore no make-up, but that’s okay. She doesn’t need it. She’s beautuful just the way she is. We both smile.
“Are you ready to leave?” I asked, straightening out my own black gown.
“Yes,” she said. “I hope your prom is better than the one my school had.”
I think of thrift stores because I used to love looking at all the crazy out dated fashion when I was little. It was very intresting to me to see fads and even to get to know all the different types. Recently my brothers wife donated her wedding dress to the thrift store she is very kind in that respect. Gown, the word is an odd one I do not really know what else to connect a memory to.
Red gown. I wore a beautiful red dress for my senior prom. And what did I do for the majority of prom? Sit and talked with a good friend. But I wore that dress many times after high school.
Her wedding gown reached all the way to the floor, pearly white, and as radiant as the smile on her face. Today was the day. Her day, their day, and it was perfect.
I fingered the gown in my hands, the silky hem that was interwoven and crafted to perfection. I wanted to pluck a thread and pull my way out, break open from my identity and become someone much different than I. I knew it would never work, even temporarily being someone else was a stretch, but my brain started mapping and planning. Who wouldn’t want to be me for a day? I mean, I wouldn’t, but surely someone else would fall for the lies that come with me…
“Gah,” Cinderella said as she hoisted up her gown. The clock was clanging: “Bong! Bong! Bong!” She bolted out of the ballroom to a dismayed prince. He chased after her, but she kept running, just out of his sight. Outside, as she hit the first marble step down to the courtyard, her glass heel shattered and she fell, breaking her ankle, an elbow and her two front teeth.
Prince Charming found her in a bloody heap next to an old pumpkin, dressed in rags, surrounded by mice who were licking her ears trying to revive her. “Guards!” he called out, “come quickly! It’s another one of those Wall Street protesters and she’s already chipped the marble! Take her out far from the castle walls and make sure someone pisses on her!”
As the sun sets and the moon rises
You shine brighter than the stars in the skies,
As you walk down the lane of promise,
I can’t help but sigh,
This beauty, unmatched,
Is mine, for now and for forever,
The wonder in this!
Red roses, red lips,
Your smile that reaches your eyes,
And with your hand with my hand,
We are eternally intertwined.
She looked in the mirror, her emerald satin gown didn’t hug her like the numerous pin ups advertised, it swamped her…it was mis-shapen, she looked odd, uncomfortable. She felt her eyes become blurry as she touched the reflection in an attempt to reach out and tell herself, ‘I know you’re not happy…’
her gown whispered as her feet brushed the sand and the hemline washed up on the beach with the rest of her sorrows. her skin feeling as silk and satin as the waves themselves, drifting away across the dark mountain air. caressing her. always.
The gown was way too expensive, but I wanted it. The rent must always be paid. My mother always warned me about this kind of thing, but at that moment, I could care less. I wanted to look good for him, rent be damned! He would have to leave her after he saw me in this gown, any man would. Walking away was not an option. I silently prayed that the fantasy would play out as I was so desperately hoping it would.
Her gown did not fit quite right. It was a bit….too tight. Not flattering. She began to freak out. This would be horrible. Everyone would laugh and laugh and laugh when she walked in and she would have to run out crying. She doesn’t have the money to go out and buy another one. She can’t return this one either. She’s not going to the party.
On my wedding day I dove into my gown.
Shannon cheered me on. Mom zipped me up. I was giddy with joy. But also nervous about marriage. After being so certain it all seemed so fast and tentative and was this really what I wanted to do? Then my sisters helped me go to the bathroom in my poofy dress and I remembered I was loved.
Only worthy girls get to wear gowns.
Flannel nightgown. That reminds me of like, old Christmas movies where that’s what everyone wears to bed, apparently. Scrooge wore one. And it reminds me of old women, because I think they really do wear those to bed. They don’t seem very comfortable. They’d get wrapped around your legs when you moved and would probably end up all hiked up by the time the morning came around..not worth it.
She knew who I was. I could tell she remembered me. I remembered her too, her silk purple gown brought many foggy memories. Memories of me running in the fields with her, and my brother. Memories of her and my real father.
I am wearing a gown for the first time
I don’t like them all too much
Plus this clashes with my shoes
I don’t know why I shaved my legs for this gown
I just want to get out of my drag and smoke a cigar.
I much prefer my slutty dresses.
She was wearing her pink silk gown as she fell down the oak woo d stairs. I knew that would be the last time I’d see her. I never would forget her last words. “I love you”
I don’t like the word “gown”. To be honest, I think it’s just the fact that it has a G in it. I’ve never been much for the letter “G”. While everyone else favors the word “gorgeous”, honestly, if anyone ever called me gorgeous, it would be over right then. Nope no, that would certainly be the end of that. Why not use the word “lovely”? Now that’s something I’d like to hear.
Although very uncomfortable to her, she wore it anyways. She didn’t like her wedding gown. It never really felt… natural… to her. She even preferred to wear her night gown! She felt awkward and unsteady wearing it, as though deep inside her, her love for this man may also be hiding behind it’s own gown. And soon the night gown turned from comfort to memory, and the soon the wedding gown turned from symbol to shield. And the woman became rock hard in that moment, covered in her own shell of unwanted love.
you could wear a gown of moons, she said. and when you lay tonight, when you see the moonset, you could rise in morning, wearing nothing but the transparent bitter hardships of future months, wearing nothing but the howls of mourning wolves.
Dancing around in your beautiful gowns, oh how I wish I was you. You don’t understand how lucky you are, how privileged. If I were you, I would never get out of those gowns. I would feel beautiful forever.
It was stunning. She was stunning. The gown fit like a glove and was the color of the sky in the early morning. Off the shoulder it was backless, showing her tattoo with pride. It went against her mother’s wishes, to see that beast lurking on her shoulder. To see it staring back at her. But even so, she was stunning. The gown was the perfect match for her.
Gown sounds a little like drown but with a little less death. The lines keep on blurring and the two words are stirring, erasing the differences.
and so it flowed along the newly waxed and cleaned and polished floor, just for the occasion. it have layers upon layers of beauty and she felt exquisite. as did he.
The veil didn’t quite cover her tears. As she slipped her hands into her pockets (remembering her mother’s odd look as she sent dress after dress away for their lack of them) her fingers close around the knife.
She looked like a beautiful sea goddess
My sister in law
Wearing a pale sequined gown the color of
Flower stems and sky.
Underneath the gown, deep within the caverns
And folds of her body, my nephew lay growing
Living underneath layers of love
The gown on the girl was splendid. It changed to be whatever the looker thought was most beautiful. All the girl saw were tied together rags, and nothing else.
I bought my mother a nightgown for Christmas when I was young. I couldn’t keep the secret for longer than three days. I’m the same today as I was then; I can’t keep nightgowns hidden for long.
Her dress was the most magnificent thing he’d ever seen. Tumbling satin and rivers of lace made the fabric glow. The dress itself was merely a sight to behold-yet when she wore it, the gown shone brighter than the brightest star in the sky.
The mornings when my daughter, restless and bounding with energy, thrusts her arms deep into the boxes and returns laden with scarves and silks, tiaras and gowns and hats of all sorts, are tiring fun. She cavorts, dressed in six layers, singing words to a tune that only she knows.
I don’t enjoy wearing gowns. I don’t feel like myself. I’m parading a persona of a poised, eloquent woman who can navigate social politics and current events. A beautiful person? Yes. Just not the person that I am.
It’s something a woman usually wears when she goes somewhere special or exciting. It can be her wedding, a party, a dance, etc. It’s supposed to make the girl feel more beautiful where a lot of people are present.
The gown was white. I tried so many on, but this one was the one that was the one that beat them all. The funny thing, I didn’t even want to try it on, because it was so not me. I should of known by then that I did not have the best thought of what looked good on me in dresses.
Did I love it, yes but this gown was what would make my life s a grown person. Could they call it gown because it is the image of being gRown.
The gown was white, and the colors were purple. I am gRown in gown.
The water swirls around the fragments of a ball gown in a square drain. Or a prom dress. Or some strand of sequins from a department store. The man who found it is in a tuxedo. Or maybe royal raiment. Maybe he’s a prince. Or maybe he’s a lost soul.
Beside the scraps of fabric is broken glass. It used to fit a foot. But the ankle’s now broken and the pirouette’s awkward and clumsy and disjointed. The slipper’s no good now.
she walked silently down the hall trying not to make a sound her gown slowly grazing the floor she didn’t want her parent to see our hear her leaving them and there lives for good.
Trying to get the horse to move was never easy, but this day Patsy was having a particularly impossible time with his increasingly intransigent nag.
“I’ve told ya, ya, ya bastard, move would ya! If I have to get off this cart I’ll be dug outta ya. Have ya seen the state of the road? If I get down now I’ll ruin me gown. Ya inconsiderate lump of shite. I shoulda brought you to the knackers yard years ago!”
I twirled around and looked in the mirror.
“It’s beautiful Brita.” I breathed. My long hair hung at my waist, making the gown look even whiter then it should of had. Brita blushed
“I thought you would be used to fancy gowns.” she said humbly. “Nothing I can make is better than what you had before.”
“Oh Brita,” I laughed joyously, “it’s better than any gown I ever had, thank you for making it for me.”
She slipped on the gown. It was beautiful, the dress she had really wanted.
And now was the day that she was going to get to wear it. This was the day she had been waiting for ever since she had met him. He was her Prince Charming. Oh how she loved him. It was like nothing else.
There is no peaceful death dressed in the gown of a deadly beauty. Once the king of death has suppressed the light in your every breath, the sorrow in your tears, frozen to your flesh, begin to nourish the struggle of the darkening nights of your soul.
And there she stood, in my doorway, dressed in a red gown. Her dark brown hair had been pinned up in an intricate fashion. She wore no make-up, but that’s okay. She doesn’t need it. She’s beautuful just the way she is. We both smile.
“Are you ready to leave?” I asked, straightening out my own black gown.
“Yes,” she said. “I hope your prom is better than the one my school had.”
I take her hand and we walk out the door.
I think of thrift stores because I used to love looking at all the crazy out dated fashion when I was little. It was very intresting to me to see fads and even to get to know all the different types. Recently my brothers wife donated her wedding dress to the thrift store she is very kind in that respect. Gown, the word is an odd one I do not really know what else to connect a memory to.
Red gown. I wore a beautiful red dress for my senior prom. And what did I do for the majority of prom? Sit and talked with a good friend. But I wore that dress many times after high school.
Her wedding gown reached all the way to the floor, pearly white, and as radiant as the smile on her face. Today was the day. Her day, their day, and it was perfect.
I fingered the gown in my hands, the silky hem that was interwoven and crafted to perfection. I wanted to pluck a thread and pull my way out, break open from my identity and become someone much different than I. I knew it would never work, even temporarily being someone else was a stretch, but my brain started mapping and planning. Who wouldn’t want to be me for a day? I mean, I wouldn’t, but surely someone else would fall for the lies that come with me…
“Gah,” Cinderella said as she hoisted up her gown. The clock was clanging: “Bong! Bong! Bong!” She bolted out of the ballroom to a dismayed prince. He chased after her, but she kept running, just out of his sight. Outside, as she hit the first marble step down to the courtyard, her glass heel shattered and she fell, breaking her ankle, an elbow and her two front teeth.
Prince Charming found her in a bloody heap next to an old pumpkin, dressed in rags, surrounded by mice who were licking her ears trying to revive her. “Guards!” he called out, “come quickly! It’s another one of those Wall Street protesters and she’s already chipped the marble! Take her out far from the castle walls and make sure someone pisses on her!”
As the sun sets and the moon rises
You shine brighter than the stars in the skies,
As you walk down the lane of promise,
I can’t help but sigh,
This beauty, unmatched,
Is mine, for now and for forever,
The wonder in this!
Red roses, red lips,
Your smile that reaches your eyes,
And with your hand with my hand,
We are eternally intertwined.
On my wedding day, I would wear the most beautiful gown. But more importantly, that most special man would be waiting for me down the aisle. :)
She looked in the mirror, her emerald satin gown didn’t hug her like the numerous pin ups advertised, it swamped her…it was mis-shapen, she looked odd, uncomfortable. She felt her eyes become blurry as she touched the reflection in an attempt to reach out and tell herself, ‘I know you’re not happy…’