“Soft Guts” Sameera Shaik Poetry

To Rise Above for my Tomorrows

Kindness to the community in need, but exclusion of those far from righteousness and high class. 

Why the disrespect to inclusion if we were taught to be humankind, to be both?

Have you forgotten the purpose of wearing black or white attire during Islamic pilgrimages, surrounded by people from all walks of life? 

Such a shame to be selective when life is too short to be performative in spaces of empowerment and humanity.

How can I trust? 

The action still stings. Feeling lonelier than ever. 

Belonging has evolved. I live my life with integrity, hoping to find my way back to belonging, the one where I don’t have to conform or erase.

Trusting my instinct, I’ve made the right call: in quiet resistance / in retreat 

My world, my faith, it’s a spectrum, a lifelong journey of learning and unlearning what works for me and connects with me, enough to challenge myself. 

A wakeup call to rise above my patterns. 

I’m the problem as well. Allow myself to grow through it, learn not to let trauma break me down.

Diving into my emotions is not a flaw when there’s power in understanding to control the baggage. 

No callouts, no tamasha (performance), no manipulations; could a call-in be the solution? I’m afraid to know. 

Slowly building trust, I must find my way back to healing. 

It’s never too late or redundant to start over again (college), again (2020-2022), again (2023-2024), and again (2025-present). 

It’s part of my story to evolve internally, leaving a stain of different kinds in each chapter. 

A long-winded chapter, slowly losing myself. 

I can’t help but wonder what counseling could be like tomorrow. 

Life looked different 15 months ago, my last session. 

Showing up tomorrow, and that’s the real matter…

The Unimagined Plan

Should I have gotten married at the age of 19 or 21, a devious plan to reunite with my dadima (father’s mother)? 

Silly movies with plots, orchestrating fake relationships when visiting family, no excuse not to pull it off. 

Charades anyone? 

Through my parents’ eyes, a Nikah (Islamic marriage) would have justified dropping thousands of dollars to visit the homeland. 

Feelings of guilt and awkward moments.  

The following Monday should have marked the day to write up my plan to wrap my arms around my dadima. 

Impossible to tolerate the distress all alone.

Surrounded by college campuses all around, someone out there could have joined my mission. 

They would have understood the purpose; no need for blindsided chaos.

To see her one last time, there were endless possibilities. 

Where were my outrage, tears, and screams? 

Courage out of sight, the apprehension misplaced, I couldn’t bear the eggshells. 

All it took was one question: “When are we going to India?”

The pain from my last phone call should have urged me to take initiative on my father's passivity.

Twelve or thirteen years was enough to endure at that time. 

Years went by, emotions fading, and suddenly, all I have are her memories from summer ’03. 

A Different Kind of Battle 

“They said they don’t really know you,” her response still lingering in my mind, 10 years later.

Oop. 

Was connecting with new people not their cup of tea, or did I not fit their frame?

“No problem.” With a month left of high school, a new chapter around the corner... no drama was needed.

How embarrassing and odd. No reassurance of “let’s meet at the fields instead.” 

She may have said sorry, but where was her support to stand up for me? 

Did she still need validation from them? 

Has she forgotten the insecurities that come with feeling rejected? 

Oh, the irony. 

Arrived slightly worry-free, my last battle of the bands event. 

Uncomfortable moments crept up when spotting them nearby.

Assuming it couldn’t get worse, but it did; remembering one of the girls from biology two years ago.

A missed opportunity to reconnect or a blissful chance to ignore them? 

Still feeling anxious, my face felt warm as I glanced around. 

Suddenly, the awkward feelings of a new girl vanished. With a sigh of relief, I walked towards friendly peers and caught up. 

Last time catching up, last-minute photos to capture the moments. 

As new beginnings arose, hope emerged to sense the enthusiasm of connecting with people you barely know but trust.

Soft Guts

These poems are a collection of words that have been weighing on my heart, holding uncertainty and loss, navigating through spaces to learn how to become a better person. Embracing my reserved self with love and patience has helped me find my voice and what I aspire to share with the world: the need for liberation, light, and felicity. My roots and resilience have been my inspiration to keep writing and reflecting.

About the Poet

Sameera Shaik (she/hers) is a South Indian-American Muslim woman fascinated by the creative takes of health and belonging. Passionate about mental health and culture, she doesn't let her reserved personality limit her love for storytelling. Forever obsessing over a crispy dosa, soft blankets, and butterfly analogies. 

Contact

Instagram: peaceofsameera