Some nights when the clock strikes midnight. Some days in the early hours of dawn, when I am asleep and also awake, I feel an intense icy wind stir.
Like the inside of a vast cave that resides inside a forest, the wind fills my bare insides, stirs the sharp vacant space.
In these times, the hollowness is palpable; a forever stamp of what this body will never bear.
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.
Her eyes narrow behind sunglasses, she tilts those shades up as she picks one– sniffs deep for the right scent: sweet, ripe tests its firmess
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
Glistening spinach and Chorizo atop thick tender scallops arrive in front of me Saturday night. The plate sits next to the mason jar filled to
Fire limned with resentment, eating up the air until I choke— this is my anger, gaslit, bewildered. No longer able to tell who should be