Breathe. I instruct. Turn the paparazzi flashes off.
Breathe. And listen, grab the handles tight.
Feel. Their rough edges inside your palm, painting callouses onto virgin skin.
Don’t. Let your body, mind be dragged behind you, ripping to shreds like stewed chicken.
Breathe. And see that tiny dim light–light years away, forty light years away. Channel all your fight towards that star.
Because blood sheds before new skin.
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.
I long for them To frolic freely without a worry To come home at night without school work I long for them to play in
From classroom to lip sync battle From discipline and set up and chaos in the sweltering room dripping with conversations about civil rights activists and
Walking through a field of sinking sand I push hard for clarity it doesn’t matter those words don’t matter I will not let them attach