I see it in the distance
hear its whispers, calling out my name
and I sit at the edge, feet dangling freely,
belly gurgling with questions of uncertainty:
should I continue?
is it good enough?
does it matter?
is it worthy?
Then it drifts into sight again
it’s in front of me now
so I pick up my pen once again
and continue–not because the questions have subsided,
but because I have to
I have to
I have to tell my story.
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.
I lower my chest and inhale everything blurs the white line in front of me, the screaming crowds. My heartbeat slows and suddenly it’s all
As my year off, sabbatical, leave of absence, whatever you want to call it comes to an end, it’s hard not to look back and
A silky-sweet, buttery-crisp scallop honors my tongue and I’m instantly nodding and embarrassingly “mmming” so the table next to me grows awkwardly silent. The plate
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