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.
Remember to write, you are a writer no matter what they say, Remember to create, you are a an artist ignore, avoid, cleanse yourself of
I used to cling, one-handed to sides of cliffs, pulled myself up to every summit. I used to speed downhill-no hands-crash to a halt and
Behind her A mountain of ashes rise Tall, venomous Encompasses a year’s worth of darkness that took residence in her bloodstream and infected every inch
Transformed by the sun’s rays peppermint essential oil dance piano love cuddled Transformed by movement truth diving in to the new color hair beauty