Breathe. I instruct. Turn the paparazzi flashes off.
Breathe. And listen, grab the handles tight.
Feel. Their rough edges inside your palm, painting callouses onto virgin skin.
Don’t. Let your body, mind be dragged behind you, ripping to shreds like stewed chicken.
Breathe. And see that tiny dim light–light years away, forty light years away. Channel all your fight towards that star.
Because blood sheds before new skin.
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.
They are a secret society, A loud parade, A marching band, A cacophony A band of drummers practicing downstairs They Have It And outside alone
The raucous laughter slips into the hallway, vibrates, echoes, pulsates out onto the road. It is our last hour together: this specific combination of personalities.
Move, move, move! I know sounds like common sense and even dumb as teachers spend most of their day on their feet, but usually we