She sits atop her throne, spinning
A double-edged string of sharp remarks,
they flow in a train
Compartment after compartments of you are not good enough’s
and no one cares for you
and you’re lying to yourself, if you think you were important to them.
Slicing open ancient wounds that have barely healed
She sits atop her throne, never satiated, always hungry
feeding on my open wounds.
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.
Knees high, wide strides I run towards nothing away from everything laughing loud and free Bare feet on sand I chase after everything Stop Turn
I sit here free with my mind, the trees, and a mosquito. I am love. I am earth. I am peace. Still I wonder. I
today I sat at a table
rectangular in shape
long and wide
with seven white people in power
next to the other person of color at the table