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.
Inside the tiny lunch room, with its tiny chairs and low ceilings next to the copier behind closed-doors In the corners of the hallways It
The crisp cool air catches my cheeks, like a mother holding the face of her child in her palms– I gaze back into her eyes:
Last week I went to my first Kundalini Yoga class. The instructor kept saying that Kundalini Yoga is about balance. I love this idea of
Boys will be… Responsible, kind, empathetic, respectful, Seekers of Equality: Fighting to Debunk the Stereotypes imprinted onto the fabric of their skin before they are