Wispy strands of air whip my body, a gentle massage only a winter’s morn can provide; I tilt my chin up into the brilliant blue yellow above.
Lungs: balloon out and release you, it, then.
Simmering in my solitude, I glide towards the woods; branches graze my hair, dubbing me with courage.
Skin: crisp against the wind.
I. Am. On. My. Own.
No desire to bust into your room to vent, cry, dance, let go. I don’t need it no more.
I am me; the me who stands tall like that oak in front of me.
On my own.
Sonia Chintha is an Indian American writer who lives in the Washington DC area. She blogs, writes poetry, and fiction. She is also an English teacher who believes that our experiences teach us more than any test. She is the founder and co-editor of Good Little Girls.
Illustration by Deema Alawa Confession by Sonia Chintha Confession: there are times when I bash mothers (the holy grail of humans) because there are times
Illustration by Allie Olivares Unmasked by Sonia Chintha “Why don’t you mask every day as an immunocomprised person?” Kyle asks. It is the second to
