I spelled my name out

in the sand,

and it looked

like another language,

like gibberish or

Sanskrit, and I remember

you said it tasted like

hieroglyphics

on your tongue,

but that might have just been

the wine

talking.

I rest my head on my pillow

but no where to rest my

soul, I go to bed too early

but I never sleep, one of the

many side effects

of you, and they go round and

round the rim of my skull like

headache

nausea

dizziness

insomnia

thoughts of suicide.

I can't consult my doctor

because his eyes

are your

kind of blue.

It's weird

Change

Part of me really grieves over change

I've lamented talking about it because it something I had to do a lot of this year...

The beginning of 8th grade

I've made it but only partly

The other half is waiting for me at the end

But it's a difficult half

And it's making fun of me right now

But we do that, so I guess that's alright

I quickly step through the first months, I am already taken by how easy I have had it

But then again I stitched up my heart at the end of summer, so I keep my emotions fairly hidden, unless I feel the need to talk about them which never happens

It's hard being on the outside, I have realized that in many ways I have changed my approach to talking to people after feedback

I never changed the way I dressed but this year was the first year I was okay showing my arms in public

I used to never think of wearing short sleeve shirts

Now I do

I swim through the muddy water of the next months

Knowing it was a good thing not to let my gut drop at certain social stuff like I did last year, because I wouldn't have my gut anymore

I stayed quiet when I felt it necessary, I let people swim over me

And that's why I was last to get to shore

The last months I crawled through

Knowing my stitches had become worn, and I didn't want them to tear

So I came up with lists of all the changes I had made over the past months, thinking that it had been a successful year

And then one of my stitches ripped

Realizing that I could still make it to the finish line I tried

But the weight started to pull me in

But I wouldn't just stop at nothing anymore

Like I used to

And still do, but not today

I would cry and scream

And try every way to dig myself out of the hole I had created

With my stitches lose my tears started to fill the bottom of the hole

And slowly they started to lift me up to the top of the hole

So I didn't need my stitches

I started to carefully walk to the end

I was soaked but I was drying

Slowly but surely I knew I would get there

If my emotions can help me so can I

Through painful hardships and constant fear of messing up and being alone, I some how saved myself from falling through

The cracks I had made myself, without even knowing it

So I guess I changed, wasn't that my goal?

Or was it other people's

Am I not fit to stand my ground in front of them?

Most of me is myself

But sometimes I wonder if I wouldn't really have done what I did

In any scenario

Sometimes I wonder if the change that I really wanted

Wasn't coming from me

If you really knew me

You would see

A frown behind my smile

A lie in "I'm alright"

Bruises under my clothes

But you don't

Or maybe you just ignore it

if you are in love with me,

you are in love with nothing.

you are infatuated with

unkempt hair and heavy eyelids.

you have feelings for a girl who has ripped the bows out of her hair

because there's no point in looking happy

if you aren't

and she's too weak to lie anymore.

how could you possibly love the baggage she always drags behind her?

how can you stand holding her calloused hands?

when you kiss her-

with your lips locked tight-

can you taste the bitterness

hanging in her throat?

you are lost in the eyes of hurricanes

how can you love a natural disaster?

When she's not cranking out gut-wrenching lines that are dripping with emotion and wisdom well beyond her years, Samantha Fain is "the girl that sells overpriced popcorn and soda" at a small theater in Connersville, Indiana.

We are pleased to feature her in this week's Proser Showcase.

Known here as @paintingskies, "Sam" has a stylistic voice that is as pronounced as it is profound.

P: What is your relationship with writing and how has it evolved?

S: As a child, I'd always been into writing silly poems and (frankly terrible) song lyrics, but I didn't really get super interested in writing until about four years ago.

Due to some personal issues, writing became my outlet. I started off on an app where my love for reading and writing grew daily. The community was (and still is) so welcoming, and I made so many lifelong (although far-away) friends that inspired me to continue writing and helped me stay strong. I couldn't be here without them (you know who you are: thank you).

Now, writing is my passion. It's as necessary as breathing.

P: Briefly discuss the value that reading adds to both your personal and professional life.

S: Reading helps me get through the day, and reading everyone's posts on networks like Prose. really helps me. It's nice to know I'm not the only one with baggage.

P: How would you describe your current literary ventures and what can we look forward to in future posts?

S: I wouldn't call what I write "literary ventures". That makes me sound like

I'm a professional, when I'm really just a seventeen year-old streaming-Netflix-and-eating-poptarts-on-the-couch kind of girl.

Right now, I'd describe my writing as introspective and schizophrenic, but it's basically just my stream of consciousness. I write how I feel and think.

You'll definitely be seeing more from me, but I have no idea what I'll be working on in the future.

P: What does Prose. mean to you?

S: [It] means the world to me. I've encountered so much support and love from everyone here. Prose. is practically synonymous to a friend.

P: Where else can we find you and your writing?

S: As with Prose., you can find loads of my new and older pieces on Opuss, @paintingskies. You can also find me on Twitter at @slf97 and Instagram at @sammyleelee.

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This #FridayFeature blog series is designed to help you get to know your fellow community members better. Would you like to nominate someone for interview? Have a question you’re dying to ask of someone on the platform? Send us a private message here or visit our contact page to get in touch: theprose.com/p/contact.

we act as if our past can be forgotten-

as if we can just cast our memories like stones-

as long as they're thrown into the sea

the crashing waves will erase our history

but does our past really ever leave us alone?

there will always be scars beneath our broken bones

our past is here,

our past is there

our past is everywhere

we're engulfed by old memories-

transparent ghosts

hiding in our cupboards

sneaking into the pockets of our coats

my mother once told me

whenever she eats cheese fries

she always remembers her proposal date

the day he asked for her hand in marriage-

she remembers

because that's what they ate

i wonder what she thinks

when people sip their drinks from fancy china

and speak of north carolina

where he broke their unbreakable vow-

two words can slash open a dam of memories somehow

maybe she cries

maybe she dies a little inside

but all i really know is

she loves cheese fries

here's the thing:

we were always only ever half of an entity

and your arms never truly held me

more position than action

like holding hands with unlaced fingers

like kisses when your lips don't linger

the truth is we never were ever quite what we thought

and you were only ever just caught

Walking softly

With tear in my eyes

Loving quickly

My essence is now floating

Like it should be

As I quietly let myself be

My ribs of glass touch yours

And they don't shatter as they usually do

In a life that will have many battle scars

I'm glad to say that I have a window of hope

Some where

You will be there

Over the rainbow or under

For whatever has caged me

With our

Secret society

Of unconditional love and happiness

And lots of hugs

i often question my purpose-

if i'm worth it

if i'm worthless-

what this verse is

i have tried

to justify

everything i've done

i have reveled in the devil

i have fought my soul and won

my bones have broken, the words i've spoken

must have a sense of worth

but maybe there's no reason for my being

and my basis on this earth

in this realm of possibilities

is it possible there's no plan for me?

don't tell me i'm gone-

give me a purpose

give me a pen and i'll show you i'm worth it

forget morality

forget reality

let me think in ink

and change my mortality

so i'm better than what i was before

but my words are dead on arrival

i'm just futility's whore

if this poetry

is metaphorically speaking

then maybe i should be keeping quiet

i'm just writing to write

and i know that that's wrong

but to find my purpose i have to try it

right?

i've seen trees fall in the forest

and i haven't heard something

or anything-

i'm deaf to what i already know

i'm just trying to find my purpose

but maybe there's nothing left for me to make my own

One of our newest Prosers, Jaylan Salah Salman, was born in Alexandria, Egypt in 1988.

She is a feminist writer, film critic, amateur singer and dancer. She has a bachelor's degree in Pharmaceutical Studies but has since stopped working within that profession to focus on her writing career.

"Now I am a full-time writer, accepting occasional writing, editing, proofreading and journalism jobs."

P: Describe your relationship with writing. How has it evolved?

JSS: I have a pretty intimate relationship with writing. It's passionate and sensual and I guess now we have reached a common ground between the both of us.

It started when I was 12, I had finished reading most of the children's horror, thriller, mystery and novel series in my parent's library. Some of the books belonged to them, some they had bought specifically for my sister Dina and me. I was a voracious reader back then. I would munch on any book that came in my way. I also read newspapers, my Mom's fashion magazines and tons of teen magazines.

My mother was at a loss with me, I always complained on how I wanted to read "certain" books yet I couldn't find what I wanted to read.

One day she told me, "If there is a book you really want to read but can't seem to find, then write it and read it for your own pleasure." So I started on a teenage mystery romance series based on my high school friends and foes. My sister and mother were my first audience, then came a bunch of school friends as my writing progressed.

From the moment that I held the pen, I didn't put it down except during college because pharmacy school was so damn stressful. Also this was a time when I lost faith in myself as a writer.

To describe how I am in relation to my writing, I would say it's a ball of energy, it keeps building up inside of me and when I don't get it out, it bursts, leaving me injured, physically. I tried to suppress an idea of a novel that I wanted to start on but didn't have time for during one of my more prolific pharmacy jobs. I ended up with a stress-related stomach ulcer!

P: Discuss the value reading brings to both your personal and professional life.

JSS: One of the main things that reading adds to my life is continuous growth. As a writer -and a woman- I am in a constant state of growth and maturity. My body grows from childish to blooming to aging, so does my soul, so does my writing. Reading is the lantern, the compass and the stars for my writer soul. It allows me to keep getting better and refined, as a woman and a writer, personally and professionally. It also allows me to get rid of having to deal with people, yet not become too disconnected from what is going on with them.

Reading also saved my life a number of times. When I couldn't write or when I was slut-shamed for a long time in my homeland's literary scene, I gave in to depression and took to reading other works.

Milan Kundera, Henry Miller, Charles Bukowski, Isabelle Allende and Mario Vargas Llosa saved me from suicidal thoughts and utter despair. They kind of tempted me to try and let go of all the pain by writing about others, even the ones who hurt me the most.

The result was my first Arabic -unpublished- short story collection "Live Skin" which I have been pitching to publishers in Egypt for over a year now.

P: Describe your current literary ventures. What can we expect to see in future posts?

JSS: My writing is ballsy, raw and unapologetic. I write both in English and Arabic, both professionally and personally. However, my English writing tends to be edgier, more spiced up. I find that pretty encouraging for me to explore this side of me, as a writer.

Ever since I started writing I have been fascinated with people; the way they act, the way they talk, lie, spit, make out, even perform complicated tasks like commercializing violence or demonizing "wild" women. It fills me with certain energies and a whir of emotions that I get so compelled to express.

I try to tie everything together on paper -these days, blank Word documents- and the result translates to these pieces about women, about bodies, about life.

P: How did you find Prose, and what keeps you coming back?

JSS: A friend actually called me to Prose. The one and only Kelly Knox. The instant reaction and enthusiasm are what brought me back. I felt like this is a place I would be proud to publish in.

Everybody seems to understand what they're reading. Even when somebody dislikes what I write, there are really helpful comments and reviews. I've published in places where people have thrown shit at me, calling me an "ignorant whore" or just cursing me all along. People out there are intolerant of my writing. It doesn't surprise me really but the harsh comments never fail to work their way into my soul, negatively.

So I came to this judgment-free zone of smartass, talented people and I felt pretty excited to oil my writing gear and get going.

Jaylan's bold narrative-style essay entitled "Poof, Vagina" recently won her $500 in a Prose writing challenge. (You can read our previous blog post for details on the challenge.)

What was her reaction to the news?

"My recent win has left me in a buzz. I haven't felt that appreciation ever since I won a film critic workshop in Luxor, Egypt that was granted to me because of my film critique talents. This time, I was appreciated for the real writer in me.

"I bled on the page and got handed a huge first-aid package. It's both overwhelming yet motivating. All I could think of is; what should I write next? I must rub the dust off those old ideas and lay them down for the world to see.

"The only way by which I could repay you is to keep writing. It's a pretty refreshing feeling."

Jaylan was also recently accepted as a member of the Prose Partner Program. When asked what she hopes to accomplish in this role, she said:

"Being a Prose partner adds huge responsibility to my writing goals and aspirations.

"The one most precious thing that a writer can hope for is to inspire as many people as possible. Through becoming a Prose partner, one can only hope she would inspire, and most certainly be inspired."

Be sure to follow Jaylan and her work here @JaylanSalahSalm and on Twitter at @Lorelei1988.

You can also visit her Facebook page by copying and pasting the following link into your web browser: facebook.com/jaylanpoeticmuses, and check her out on Tumblr: http://jaylansalah.tumblr.com/.

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This #FridayFeature blog series is designed to help you get to know your fellow community members better. Would you like to nominate someone for interview? Have a question you’re dying to ask of someone on the platform? Send us a private message here or visit our contact page to get in touch: theprose.com/p/contact.