What you have is a loud in my face kind of life that can cut, slice my flesh open
I still walk, upright, one foot at a time, a trail of burgundy behind me—the only evidence of the hurt
It is easy to remain on this lower rung, while you tower above me, seemingly carrying all that you want and all that I should want
I still stand, upright, feet grounded, the dust on my hair the only evidence of inadequacy.
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.
Burning brightly through the window The sun’s ray cut into space Warming every inch Filling it to its brim Crackling kindly from below The fire
1. Him: “What’s this?” Me: “A Poem” Him: “But it doesn’t rhyme.” 2. “When I eat something, my shirt eats it too!” 3. Me: “What’s
October 31st, 2012 I woke up super early to pack all my things for that evening– I was to go to the Ballet. It was one