The blame—it stacks high, an unyielding tower of sharp pieces of stone.
You assemble and build and construct…
So focused on this up surd structure
So consumed by the long hours you put in to lay each stone just right for all your viewers to see
but you are blinded—
blinded by the work, unable to see that each shard of rock has your name on it too.
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.
for wearing ties and high-heeled boots for Speaking up for speaking the truth I burp, I curse, I’m hard as asphalt I’m tired of your
Begin: again and again and again you can sit me down and point your scrawny finger at me, judge me, pierce holes of doubt on
Like vultures to a corpse, these strings circle above: grabbing at a limb, a string of hair, a piece of clothing. Long, curvy claws strike:
“It’s a hard place to leave but an even harder place to live.” –Papa F aka PG’s philosopher dad. I know for a few days