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.
Love is the whoosh of a dishwasher filled uncomfortably to the brim, only to be emptied days later in a hurried, not-into-details way, which results
“If you think you are ready to publish, you are not even close. So many writers are trying to fast track to publishing, without putting
From a distance I stand in mountain pose, channel the ground beneath me to center the particles that long to join the majority of tribes