Wispy strands of air whip my body, a gentle massage only a winter’s morn can provide; I tilt my chin up into the brilliant blue yellow above.
Lungs: balloon out and release you, it, then.
Simmering in my solitude, I glide towards the woods; branches graze my hair, dubbing me with courage.
Skin: crisp against the wind.
I. Am. On. My. Own.
No desire to bust into your room to vent, cry, dance, let go. I don’t need it no more.
I am me; the me who stands tall like that oak in front of me.
On my own.
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.
Humidity hung in the air, clogging the metro tunnels. I emerged from the dank underground to find sun sparkling through the shadows of trees as
She sees the curves of her body from top to bottom. Some are pleasing, some annoying. Images of beauty scroll past her mirror, they reflect
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