Tag Archives: Dresses

Any story about dresses

In Pieces

I remember being a whole. I was proper and genuine a real joy to be with.
My face was mostly smiling, or working toward a smile.
My hands flitted and fluttered about working ahead of my conversations including all the light words escaping with light wisps of delight.
I remember being a whole woman. I was alabaster and red mixed with blush. My dresses swished and my tops flowed. I wondered about as I flowed down the street. The pedigree of my me which populated my personality and it exuded around me without the need to say a thing.
I remember loving who I was.

elitedaily_girl_crying_in_bed_6-13-2018I remember loving the thought of love and knowing what that would feel like.

I remember being a whole.
I remember meeting you.
You relished me mostly but desired some change.
Too much color but not enough thread to make your version of my art.
Let’s not do this, but start changing that.
The parts of me you liked but tweaked and over time some over bending
caused parts of me to break.
I remember together, and starting to question if I was enough.
I remember being. I remember our us. I remember feeling, but realizing that your feelings weren’t the same.
I remember trying to fix me so your picture was right.
I remember  wondering why I needed to fix me when we were together.  The list of my wrongs was growing, as I tried harder to keep up with your demands. You seemed perfect, or so you thought. Your answers required my changes.
I remember bending, I remember breaking.
The requests and frustrations seemed to build, the weight continued to hold me down.
The pieces of me slowly faded from color to slate, possibly gray, but largely not recognizable as to what was there before.
The smiles and laughter seemed like faded memories, flowers closed petals fallen.
The swagger and smiles removed. Slow steps, muddy tracks, slodden, downtrodden a personality once floating, now unable to find a place to land.
The person I was replaced by me now.
I remember that I stopped remembering.
This morning I turned over and reached out to you in our bed, the stable piece of our land where silence ruled and where I remembered who we were, or what I wished we were to be when we were new.
I remember you not being there.
I remember being something, but nothing was left to make peace with, there was no ‘me’ anymore.
I couldn’t remember, I didn’t know. The piece left wasn’t me at all.
Image Credit: elitedaily.com
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Morgan Werhen
Copyright 2018

 

Three Little Dresses / Three Little Girls

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They’re images of brides whom I know nothing about. The dresses all match the shorter style which is all the hotness right now.

Each represents a type, a common theme.  The beauty queen, the country girl, and the chaste naive.  Some say the dress makes the girl, others say the dress finds the girl. I don’t know what to say, but I wish I knew stories of each of them.

“They’re just models” you say. “There is no story.” But there is I say, “there always is a story.” With beauty queen, why cover the right eye? Sure it could have been a photo shoot decision, but what if the makeup didn’t quite hide the circles, was she up all night partying? Was she up all night studying, and modeling is how she pays for college? I don’t know.

Take country girl.  Would anyone be surprised to find out that she doesn’t where heels that much?  The stance is awkward to say the least, but she may actually really be uncomfortable in those shoes.  The dark eyeshadow makes her all dark and twisty, which further messes with the genre we’re going with here, why a dark and twisty country girl?  Maybe she really is, so the shot was adjusted to fit her personality.

Finally, naive chaste girl.  This wedding dress scares me.  Why the baby blue bow? It feels like a young child is getting sent off to the wolves.  Her eyes are so doughy as to question if she even understands what a marriage is, let alone a lifetime.  The flapper esque dress with the antiqued room, sets the stage for a vintage style wedding, but the girls eyes really bring into question, if she really should get sent off with this groom.  Is that panic? Her fingers grasping hold of the bouquet and skirt to hold on to herself?  Possibly her personality is showing through, and she simply is concentrating that hard on the camera.  In all cases we’ll never know, but the questions will always remain.

Who were these girls, and what were their stories?

Image Credit: weddingomania.com

~Morgan Werhen 2018.

Standing Here Waiting Only for You

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I walk down the aisle today, toward you and I forever. All the memories, experiences, laughter and crying

all end and begin today.
The me you see today is the first day of the rest of our lives.
I’m standing here in front of you wearing white.
Cherish this version of me, love me, make me your princess. I’m standing here waiting only for you.

I do. ~Morgan Werhen

Outside – Chris

The Werhen house had been very quiet these last few months.  Vehicles would come and go, but the largest change was the empty driveway when they left. I hadn’t spent time to meet the new neighbors as work kept me busy, and frankly living this close to downtown and an amazing lake largely kept me away from the house in the summer.
Something had happened though.  I remember the police cars this early spring. I don’t know why, but I heard a scream that night, chilling, hopeless.  Then only quiet.
Today though, there is activity. An older gentleman is talking to a younger man with a tablet, he’s tapping away furiously while the older man gesticulates somewhat hastily in what seems to be some frustration.
A moving truck is rumbling down the road, and looks to be stopping at 168 W 12th street. The house with the red door. I kept staring at the door, just now noticing the windows above frame it like sorrowful eyes. The door finishes the face though, not in a smile. It seems the house is crying today.
The door slowly opens, I can see a bit of light brown hair, emerging, though the rest of her is silhouetted  by the presence of trucks, and the two men discussing something of importance.
The older gentlemen sees her, and suddenly stops talking.  He rushes over and gives her a fatherly embrace, I can see her hair bobbing in the motions of heaviness, though she only comes up to below his eyes.  She pulls away, says a statement to the man with the tablet, and while turning toward the house, waves at it, and him, to almost say good bye, or at least take it all.
 I see her sad face now, she looks back at the man who must be her dad, and begins what may be a smile, or a slight brightening of her face. As she starts to walk on, he follows her for a few steps, but she returns to him, and stands on her toes to give him a peck on the cheek.  His hand gives her back a small squeeze as she turns back toward the road.
She was beautiful.
Her hair was pulled up partially, leaving the rest cascading down her back.  As she took each step down the sidewalk, it bounced confidently with her body, in a paradox to the sad face I noticed before she started in front of me.  Her ensemble of clothing hugged her body, but the skirt slightly billowed at her waist.  I tried to ignore it, but her ass was perfect.
“Butt” I kept saying to myself, “Butt! No need to call her body parts derogatory names in your head.”
There was something about her, I must meet her.
I’ve now realized that I was staring.  The hose in my hand that was supposed to be washing my motorcycle, was now squirting helplessly in front of me. I quickly turned to look busy as her dad looked my way with an odd look on his face.
Trying to clear my head, I realized that my eyes had betrayed my thoughts.  This poor women was obviously grieving about something or someone.  There was no way she would be interested in meeting me.  It seems she is leaving anyway.  Typical, work, fun and circumstances would again not let me follow up on meeting someone.
I quick snuck another look her way, her back was to me, but her face was looking directly toward me.  “No, she must be looking toward her dad.” I thought. I checked, and he was busy talking to the truck driver.
“Who is she?” I thought?  “What happened?” “Would she ever be interested in the likes of me?”

Rockabilly Halter (Rework)

Standing there in front of the mirror was nearly impossible. The polish on my left pinky toe was gone, and a major chip and crack of the toenail had removed the teal glaze. I’m standing here willing myself to fix it, to restart my life. “Walk over to the bathroom and reapply the nail polish.” It was more of an attempt at willing my psyche, because like my toe, the very smallest and vulnerable of all of them, was reminding me of my life. It was small, wrecked and teetering on desperation.

I hate everything about me right now.

My thighs seemed to pop out around my waist. I’ve done nothing, hardly ate, slept profusely, and gained weight? It seemed so far from this angle that looking to the right only showed thigh. “I can’t even see the carpet?” “Why am I so ugly?” “One big thigh” I thought. My stomach used to have so much panache and yet now so floppy. If it wasn’t for my “misguided now” belly ring, the front sag may have eternally hid my current only favorite body part. Standing straight, I temporarily fixed the problem, at least made me feel a little better.

Here I stand in my bra and panties, no place to go but no place to stay. Scrunching my hair to give me something to do, I continued with the work at hand. Fix my life by just living, pretending, willing myself to go on.

It was time to cover up this patchwork of sloppy with a magical dress. Opening my sixteen year old ‘wooden’ jewelry box, I grabbed my silver hoops. I wasn’t sure on the size for today’s ensemble, but these were my favorite, and made my face pop. With the right earrings and mascara I could make a thousand bad makeup days disappear. Big eyes, and cute ears. My hair never hurt either as it waved down past my shoulders some resting on my chest. He used to love just sniffing, breathing in my hair. “How is it that you smell so good?” He constantly asked. It was almost as if he was more surprised by the power of it, than the smell itself. For me I never thought much of these locks until I realized his total absorption with them. He would come behind me and just grab hold, twisting, and climbing “my mane” he called it. I smiled a bit in the mirror just then, happy that this thought was finished with a smile.

Earrings in, it was time to try on my find. The ivory and black Rockabilly picked up last Spring from Hot Topic.

The dress laid there on the bed, halter straps traipsed around each other like lovers in an embrace. The light nautical print brought a touch of ebony to an already pearlescent bodice kissed by crinoline tulle at the bottom of the skirt. The clothing called to me, daring me to transform into that warm soul that everyone used to love. The beauty who some men just wanted to touch, or bump up against as their conversation was veered toward me, and seemly some never knew how to pull away.

I started by adjusting this new bra. The hope was that the current strapless model would provide the protection needed against the mighty gravity, which if it won would automatically force all conversation away from me, and instead involve sudden shock and awe as everyone would be gaping at my chest.

Adjustments made, body parts appeared to be sound. A quick light pull at the bottom while quickly pushing everything inside the protective wire and pad seemed enough to move onto the quest at hand.

I picked up the article from my bed. It laid in my arm like a bouquet of roses. This dress was made for my body. The skirt lightly billowed out as the straps now hung loose. I undid the hanger straps while spinning it around to pull down the zipper. The light crackle of metal unfastening, provided an electric shock as I now forgot my sorrows and allowed my guilty pleasures to take over. I excitedly lifted the skirt, careful of my hair, over my head. The silver earrings did their bidding and caught the tulle like a sergeant holding up traffic.  The lace tickled my nose and tummy as it slid over my waist. Once the skirt fanned out at my hips my arms grasped hold of the two halter straps.

A halter provides that free open back aura while protecting everything in the front. I delicately tied the bow while adjusting each so they equally fell just below my neck.

Looking in the mirror, I noticed a small, delicate shaping bow and lightly adjusted that tie to cinch up the bodice perfectly against my waist. The change was electrifying and my eyes widened at the site before me in the mirror.

Sometimes the right dress can be magical. I need magical today. I smiled a bit, and it felt good. My arms looked nice, pearly white but smooth. My hair appeared to add body, while noting that subtle shape of my waist now accentuated by the flow and twist of the skirt. My mascara popped and with my blush raised my cheekbone making my face feel skinnier. I felt light, and wanted to swish my hips.

While leaning down to grab the lipstick I twisted my hips. The skirt happily complied with the request and lightly swished about, the lace lightly tapping my legs as it fulfilled the requirements of the request. Looking back up I noticed my butt causing that subtle curve from the waste. “Now why don’t you look that nice in underwear?” I thought.

Next Chapter

Rockabilly Halter

Standing there in front of the mirror was depressing to her. The polish on her left pinky toe was gone, and a major chip and crack of her toenail ripped off the teal glaze leaving her left foot in a state where she couldn’t tell if the color was applied, or her nail was working at removing her attempts at care. Her thighs seemed to pop out around her middle, it seemed so far from this angle that looking to the right only showed thigh straight down to carpet. One big thigh she thought. Her stomach was a panache of almost cute belly button surrounded by fat roles wrapping and pushing it out of site. If it wasn’t for her ‘misguided now’ belly ring, her front sag may eternally hide her favorite body part.

All this sad news was nearly enough to add to an already hard day. It was time to cover up skin with a magical dress. She picked up her small silver hoops, not sure on the color for tonight’s ensemble, but they were her favorite, and made her ears pop, or at least took the eyes away from the lower left lobe. “What is that thing going to turn into when I’m fifty?” she thought.

Earrings in, it was time to try on her find. The ivory and black rockabilly picked up last Saturday from the local dress and scents shops downtown.

The dress laid there on the bed, halter straps traipsed around each other like lovers in an embrace. The light nautical print brought a touch of ebony to an already pearlescent bodice kissed by crinoline lace at the bottom of the skirt. The clothing called to her, daring her to transform into that warm soul that everyone wants to be around. The beauty who some men just want to touch, or bump up against as their conversation is veered toward her, and seemly never know how to pull away from.

Morgan first adjusted her bra. The hope was that her current strapless model would provide the protection needed against the mighty gravity, threatening to force all conversation away from her, and instead only leave eyes gaping at her chest.

Adjustments made, and body parts appeared to be sound. A quick light pull at the bottom while quickly pushing everything inside the protective wire and pad seemed enough to move onto the quest at hand.

She walked over to the bed and picked up the article. It laid in her arm like a child, holding on to her like it was made only for her body. The skirt lightly billowed out as the straps now hung loose. She undid the hanger straps while spinning it around to pull down the zipper. The light crackle of metal unfastening, provided an electric shock as she excitedly lifted the skirt still careful of her hair, over her head. The lace tickled her nose and tummy as is slid over her waist, her arms came down around the front and grasped hold of the two straps.

A halter provides that free open back aura while protecting everything in the front. Her hands delicately tied the bow while adjusting each bow so they equally fell just below her neck.

Looking in the mirror, she noticed a small, delicate shaping bow and lightly adjusted that tie to cinch up the bodice perfectly against her waist. The change was electrifying as her eyes widened at the site before her in the mirror.

Her hair seemed to add body, her waist once again showed her graceful shape. Wider eyes accentuated her face while taking all the focus away from areas she currently was less than happy about.

While leaning down to grab her lipstick she twisted her body around. The skirt happily complied with the request and lightly swished about, the lace lightly tapping her legs as it fulfilled the requirements of the spin. She looked up at the mirror and noticed her butt causing that subtle curve from the waste. “Now why don’t you look that nice in underwear?” she thought.

Next Chapter