there are days when I wake up trembling

as if it’s just been yesterday

the thought that you are no more haunts me to the day

your face is almost dotted in my memory,

every sigh seems like a prayer, a longing to see you

I am pretty tired of the notion of one last chance to see someone

as if it would change anything, it’s just our one hope to make things right

hear what our ears what to hear, imagine what could have happened but

one chance wouldn’t change how things are, I wouldn’t have left my pain with you

I wouldn’t be any different with you, I would just be better around you

you you were the first one to make me feel proud of who I am

dews on eyelashes, maron flush olive green dune white memories

yesterday left like an empty promise

every summer vacation, the sun melts my skin

the longing for monsoon and you have been the same

Sitting on the rusty bench located at the epicenter of the park,

I stare at little lives playing, dissolving cacophonous chaos into my coffee,

I left home, my skin has grown.

The city lights reflect off my lens as tears roll down.

Feeling left out amidst the world rushing into the metro.

Letting solitude get into your body like cold air from the AC seeping to your ankles.

Rattling wounds.

You stop at the station where life is a desert and your home is a mirage.

Urban sadness is forbidden destiny.

These days when everything is online, memories fleet with time. Capturing every moment in fragments and retaining it forever is tough. I like to associate a memory with feeling. Last year this time of the year. I was hungry to make a change. I wanted to turn every sigh into a prayer to recover the pandemic and everyone’s mental health.

For a long time, my bio statement is a common girl with uncommon dreams. It’s just that I have different dreams than other teenage girls of my age. It’s always a struggle being authentic and putting yourself out online with an idea. And especially with the risk that it’s going to stay there forever. But online memories are circumstantial. People remember the worst and forget the best.

Some lavender candles aroma surround my room like it did last year when I wanted to light a match in the storm. I wanted to be that little spark everyone needed. If that one idea never came to me. I can’t fathom how my life would be today.

What if our ideas were ideas. We might not have smartphones or the internet or you wouldn’t see skyscrapers concealing lovely stars. We never know.

The veins of my ideas were my words. As soon as I learned writing my passions branched out of it. My main folder on PC is titled writing which has subfolders. This basically explains everything I am till now. So I am writing my excitement and feelings. It’s the OG thing I did.

It’s one year of Inertia teens, a mental health initiative by teenagers for educating youth through vivid discussions, literary magazines, YouTube videos, and much more. It’s a new show called Teen Talks that is going to be out today on World Mental Health Day and our 1st Birthday. https://youtu.be/lPu4nxeAJXw

However, this post is not for bragging. It’s showing all the hard work I am proud of. It wasn’t a cakewalk. It was in fact a rollercoaster of emotions. I learned everything from scratch which is pretty hard especially with other priorities like school, writing, designing, etc. I am learning to appreciate myself a little more. This is one of the first steps.

On an ending note, one of my favorite artists once said, “The world’s not perfect but it’s not that bad if we have each other and that’s all we have.” I am so thankful to you all for being such an important part of me and my growth. Please continue to support me!

Thanks :)

Samina

Hello,

So I have been posting a piece on Prose every Saturday. This week I have come up with something new. It's similar to a video essay. The video is titled, '5 Things I learnt as a teen writer' in which I will be discussing diversity, mental health, submitting to literary magazines and publications, writing competitions, and much more. It's been almost 1 and half-year since I have been writing online and hence I learnt many things the hard way. I hope you will like it and lmk if it's something you would like to see more.

https://youtu.be/FMtq0BbqNtc

xx

Samina

Addiction. Let's talk about addiction. If I put it in the words of Ocean Voung “It’s like surviving a car crash and still walking from that car crash.”

I definitely agree that poetry or writing, in general, is addictive. I have seen many influencers commenting on writing is healing but very rarely do I see people talking about why it heals. In fact, I think writing hurts before it heals. It's putting out your vulnerability in a piece of document. And publishing it online or for money. Because let's be honest most writers aren't that rich and need to fill their stomachs. It's just that this September I got the time to analyze why writing is hurting more than it is healing for me.

It's essential to have these conversations with yourself and realize what's happening once in a while. I'm obsessed with perfection and I tried but I can't do anything about it. I realized that the sooner I understand it's how I am and move on is better. Now I want my writing to be perfect to put online right now. It's not how I started. When I started out it was an empty road and I didn't know what I was doing. Eventually, writing is healing because we vent out what we feel and understand what caused the same.

i’m waiting for a few folks/i love dearly to die so i can be myself

no, it’s not a phase, it's a part of me like my eyes devoid of hope

a thousand excuses you have to prove that everything doesn't exist

it's just me and myself waiting on the doors to hell to jump into blanketing fire

cause i know i don't deserve heaven

i don't deserve heaven

i don't

i

i'm waiting for a few folks/i dearly love to die so that i don't see

disappointed in me, for choosing myself over them/ heartbroken devastated hopeless

i want them to be with me but i love them so much that/ i don't want to drag them into profanity, my skin burning under the fire, blood drowning me, amber-raspberry reflections in my eyes,

i don't deserve your love

i don't

i

I'm waiting for a few folks I gravely love to die so that I don't have to choose between me and them.

I was looking for sophisticated words in the winds which messed my hair as the car rushed down the bridge. It's midnight and with closed eyes, I looked for inspiration all day. But there's a difference between recreation and chore. I wouldn't be able to build a fort out of words but I love my small home.

I was avoiding or rather not ready to come back to prose. The last time I did I was scared. Not because of my work but if people have forgotten me. But the next time I had the fear that my work might be forgotten. I felt my dear of oblivion crippling every time I tried to write something.

In the past few months, I discovered a lot. I came to know a lot about myself and became self-conscious. The story starts from when I started writing. I started writing just with the thought of making a mark in this world. I definitely was very young while making this decision. I started writing when I was in class 1. And the first thing I wrote got published. You see I was pretty used to the notion of getting popular or published through my work.

This year I discovered spoken words open mics and went for them. I loved being a part of them till May. After that in June, I participated in camps so that I could create more writing stuff. The matter was that now I have grown a lot since last year and it's practically impossible for me to produce the same amount of content with regularity. I found this amusing since I was so used to writing for publishing that I felt compelled in a certain way to come back.

During so many classes I heard people say things like you should remember why you started writing. If I'm being honest I did not do it for happiness for myself. I loved seeing everyone proud of me. It was always for someone else. Either to cope up with trauma or seeing this as the most decent way to vent. It's for everyone except me.

I realized there was a deeper issue I have to deal with. It's not about my work or how bad my grammar is. It's just if I feel it's right in a certain way then it’s ready to be put out in that moment. I wanted to be independent by writing. But for that, I realized I needed to write for myself first. It was a feeling or thought I had been avoiding for the longest.

When I realized how the world of writing is so vast. There are genres and categories. It's not the same. I used to write non-fiction as fiction. Which is toxic and but that's how I coped up. I think I needed to realize that it's okay to take a break from anything and doing it just for yourself first. Today when I was coming home with my family. I shut my eyes and lit the window down. The air was fresh and it caressed my skin and face. I felt like it has given me new life. I am not being a poet here but seriously I was disappointed for so many months. This moment didn’t come as easily as I am making it sound.

But when I felt the wind I had an epiphany. I felt that this is my words. This is who I am. I should stop pretending to be someone who I am not. I believe it’s okay to feel like you are growing up the person you used to be and feeling like a new person. And I think it's completely fine to feel this way. We are on a never-ending learning process and it's a part of it.

During the break, I tried a new genre of writing that was popular everywhere. I wrote about race, my diversity, etc recently more than I did. Though I enjoyed what I wrote I didn't feel it was my voice. Dimitri, a famous poet who I met during a camp, said to me that he had to change his entire book in his second year at grad school because his professor told me that all his poems don’t sound like his inner voice. I felt like this is true. My poems might be about what people want to hear. But I feel I don't want to say that. I don't want to talk about it.

So finally I am trying to get back to writing what I am comfortable at. It’s not going to be the same. I have Inertia teens, graphic designing work, YouTube, and school. Everything has changed with time and it was ridiculous of me to think why I can’t write like I used to do last year. I hope you all understand and support me.

I have made a newsletter condensing everything I did during vacation. It would mean a lot to me if you could check it out.

https://www.calameo.com/books/0068383573001ea2f3b48

Samina

Hey

So this message might seem very random

BUT I AM HAVING A SPOKEN WORDS POETRY WORKSHOP ON THURSDAY AND A LIVE INTERVIEW TOO

here are the links for the same

LIVE doesn't has any age limit's but the Workshop is only for BIPOC kids (12-19/20 ish)

LIVE- https://www.instagram.com/liveitupmag_/

WORKSHOP - https://www.eventbrite.com/e/novelcamp-tickets-148843415663

4:00 - 5:00: Workshop with Samina P. on Spoken words poetry.

5:15 - 6:15: Workshop with Samina P on Pitching

If the tickets are sold out let me know in comments.

Sorry for informing last minute since I was sick and busy.

Bad kind of butterflies

Burning the pit of my stomach

Bad kind of butterflies

Blood all over my hands

Bad kind of butterflies

Burying what I have got to hide

Bad kind of butterflies

Backbone crushing with the load

Bad kind of butterflies

Because I killed myself for you

Inspiration- Alec Benjamin’s song I killed someone for you, Camila Cabello’s song Bad kind of butterflies

Jasmine Higgins prompts