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.
My very pregnant former belly dance teacher is front and center in her red costume shimmying fiercely with a wide-ass grin on her face and
Illustration by Sydney Varajon Written by Caroline Min Edited by Celeste Bloom “Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it,
Illustration by Deema Alawa lighthouse by Abigail Hawk An ocean sun through evergreens peeks pink on opal snow, a jagged horizon no pale-sailed boatsdare break.