my nails dig into the earth, fists full of brown soil grind into my skin,
on my knees, I scrape again and again, digging for a piece of me, a piece of you, a piece of peace
but all I hold is cold, wet, clay
all that I am is cold, wet, clay
all that you are is cold wet clay
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.
Recently a friend of mine explained her daughter who is a toddler’s aversion to new clothes. She said that at first when attempting to slide
droplets of salty sweat glide down my torso,tickling my identity, the one I’ve made so cozy.Safely tucked away in the suburbs outside the nation’s capital,I
I am–but damn I try hard not to be– I am yet anotha girl manipulated into—cornered into enabling your male privileged ass That one who