You Complete Me (Poetry Contest) – Week 1

Welcome to the first week of the poetry contest on my blog 🙂 I hope you have some fun, and get a little bit of inspiration from this prompt.

The rules are simple.

  1. Before you post your entry make sure that you’re following my blog.
  2. You can post your entry to the contest on your blog.
  3. Link back to my blog on your post. And leave a comment to your entry here in the comments section of this post.
  4. Title the poem appropriately, you can use your images or original art if you’d like to.
  5. Your poem should be a continuation of the following lines.

Poetry is like the air I breathe,

Reading is breathing in and writing is breathing out.

Two of which I cannot live without.

If you have any doubts, feel free to ask me what you need to know by leaving a comment. I’ll respond as quickly as I can. By the end of the week, which is 24th December, I will pick a winner and they get a chance to be featured on my blog. Please share this post with your friends if you know anyone who’d like to participate.

Thank you and good luck! 🙂

– The Obsessive Writer

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Poetry Contest – Coming Soon.

This ones for all the poets out there!

Starting tomorrow I will be holding a weekly poetry contest! The winner gets a chance to be featured on my blog. 🙂

Stay tuned for more details!

– The Obsessive Writer

Dreaming of Glass (Guest Post)

I suppose if I told my story

The whole world might weep.

I suppose if I told my story

The world might change in a week.

I suppose.

I suppose

I suppose that’s just my fantasy

What I’d like to see

What I’d hope to see

Because that’s my dream

Every night I dream

Of glass.

I dream of glass ceilings to let in the light of day

Glass walls unable to hide away

Those hide aways

Where I hide away.

I dream of floors made of glass

Doors made of glass

Chairs and tables and desks made of glass

And the light shines through it all.

The light shines in my memories too

But they are so few

So sparse and faded

Near overrated

Crumbling tumbling out of my view

My distant memories of sunlight

Shining through the glass

Making rainbows through the glass

Giving meaning to me

And breathing on me

The light through the glass

Sometimes I dream even my clothes

My dirty old clothes

My dirty ill-fitting

Need so much fixing

Clothes are made out of glass.

And no one can see the stains

No one can see how old they are.

No one can see

My two bare feet

Because everyone thinks

My shoes are of glass.

They think my shoes are glass

And I don’t darkness to hide me away

I don’t have bruises that cry out all day

I don’t have nightmares to haunt me

No voices to taunt me

Or closets to hide in

Only mice to confide in

When I’m dreaming of glass.

Sometimes I dream I am glass

My chest and my face and my legs and my back

Are all made of glass.

And no one can see

The scars on me

The bruises on me

All they can see

Is the real me.

He sees me

He sees the real me

When I’m made of glass.

He sees me when I am glass

And I can’t hide away

In this old hide away

I won’t hide my face

I’ll not stay in my place

I can be be free at last

I am free from my past

When I dream of glass

I’m dreaming of glass

JustAPen


Head over to their amazing blog for more such content.

Would you also like to be featured on my site? Stay tuned for any contests I put up.

Contest Winner – The Obsessive Writing Challenge (Week 3)

Hey there! I’m sorry I’ve been gone for a few days. I was just taking a break and dealing with a lot of work in college. I’m back now 🙂

We have reached the end of the third week of this challenge. Thank you for all the amazing entries! I loved each and every piece. I can’t say it enough, I am honoured that such talented writers took part in this.

To check out all the entries, please head to The Obsessive Writing Challenge – Week 3 post.

As promised, I have picked one winner. And I will soon publish the winners guest blog on my site. Everybody’s entries were amazing! The piece that spoke to me the most was,

The Kitchen Table is by Just a Pen I love the flow of this piece. 🙂 Thank you for sharing that with me. Please visit their amazing blog!

Thank you all for participating. 🙂 This is the end of this weekly contest series. I will be back with a different Writing Challenge soon.

– The Obsessive Writer

The Obsessive Writing Challenge – Week 3

Welcome to the third week of the Obsessive Writing Challenge. 🙂 Thank you for all the support! We had some amazing entries last week.

This week’s theme is : Empty

You will have to write content, any kind of content relevant to the theme and it has to have the word “empty” in it. I will pick a winner and link to their blog in the next week. The winner gets the opportunity to feature in my blog with a guest post!

The rules are pretty simple.

You can submit your entry by writing it and posting it in your blog. Your entry should have : a title, followed by a link to my blog https://theobsessivewriter.com and then finally the body of your content.

Your post has to have the word “empty”, and it has to be the overall theme.

Leave a link to your entry in the comments below, that’s how I’ll be able to see it. (I won’t know you’ve entered the contest unless you let me know via a comment)

Your entry can be any written work, like a story, a poem or a passage. Just make sure it’s relevant to the topic and most importantly, original.

The last date for submitting your entry is 02.12.17 (Saturday)

Good luck! And make sure you follow the rules to make it easier for me 🙂

– The Obsessive Writer

A Love Affair with Writing (Guest Post)

I am truly honoured to be hosting a writer like this. You are in for a treat! Head over to Sketches by Nitesh for more inspiring words like this.


My silent friend, I know I’m going to dread every moment of this conversation but I have a story to tell you and like all of them, it also began on a cold winter night. It isn’t a love story, well technically it is. I do not wish to tell another story about meeting the love of my life.

No, it is a story about life. It is a story about my love affair with writing.

“A word after a word after a word after a word is power – Margaret Atwood.”

Every cliché in the book you can think of and I’m pretty sure that has been a part of my life. We call them clichés for a reason, right? Convenient, common clichés. But all of them taught me one profound lesson.

“Man is most conflicted when his inner peace meets his conflicted rage.” There are thousand moments in my life that fit that metaphor perfectly. There are torturous memories full of agony that would have destroyed me. But they didn’t. There’s a clichéd metaphor, “Where there is will, there is a way.” But it wasn’t my will that saved me from my own turmoil. It was the knack for words.

Long ago, I figured out a way. Life teaches us all different lessons. I never had the option of running away from my pain. I had to live with the agony that my life was. There wasn’t any other alternative. Running away from home wasn’t a viable option. It possibly couldn’t have been.

Certain memories, they only tear you from the inside. Which ones, that isn’t relevant right now.

I had too many and rather than running from them, I captured all of them. Every little detail, every little scar, I captured it in perfect detail. But I didn’t do that by creating a mind castle and storing them in my long term memory. I captured them the way mankind captured the knowledge of centuries. I wrote them all out.

When I was young, I stained pages after pages with words because that was all I could do. Those words, filled with pain and guilt, were the only thing that made me feel better. Those words gave me a reason to live.

I must have been the most conflicted man in the history of time. People try to forget their pain and there I was, a seventeen year old boy, obsessing over his pain. In his words, capturing all that caused him trouble. People love making up their past. A story full of fabricated fiction. I cannot do that because I wrote it all out.

There are so many little things we do, so many little things we own, in the end we are just a sum of those things. In the end, those little things end up being who we are. In my words, I have captured my entire life.

For someone who liked writing so much, I often struggled with letting anyone read my words. The world of written words isn’t a glorious world. The world of literature is often the forgotten one. This world isn’t filled with guns, lasers, mechanical suits or flying drones. It is the world of stained pages.

Let me share a little poem with you, bear with me for a little more.

“The Man of Shadow

Show me the way little angel,

Walk with me,

For my shadow abandoned me long ago.

My little angel,

Lead me away from my torn conflicts.

Undo the pain I’ve hidden,

My silence of denial.

Nothing is forgiven,

Not forgotten,

Tempting my will to burn bright.

Losing under piece of me in an abstract canvas.

Echoes of shattered dreams blind me,

In season of decay,

In hollow words.

Tethered mind kneels down,

Free from bounds.

You and me,

We walk on complicated lines.”

Believe it or not, I wrote it during a normal day at work, in a session fuelled with coffee. Albeit those word give another clue. To an unknown reader, those words must have felt like the work of a depressed soul. A writer who had nothing happy in his life to look forward to. I have no idea why I called it “The Man of Shadow”, but it captured the overall essence perfectly.

That poem contains a little hint of sensibility to it. Creative genius, maybe not, but it is sensible. Now considering that you’ve read all of it and you’re still attentive, here’s another one.

“I would like to believe that today I started writing even before putting a word into this particular note. God, I can be such an idiot sometimes. I mean who talks to themselves through written notes. Most probably, a psychotic imbecile.

There is a quote by Margaret Mead, it goes something like this, “Children must be taught how to think, not what to think. The reason why I remembered that little quote is because of this little boy I am observing right now. I don’t know, maybe he’ll be ten, eleven, I guess.

What sort of country do I live in? There is this eleven year old boy, who is pushing a cart filled to brim with bananas. I don’t know, it must be atleast hundred kilogram. Maybe more. We talk about right to education and saying no to child labour. Here is this boy, whose trousers are continuously giving up on him. It’s almost comical. He is pushing the cart while his trouser is slipping down.

He pushes the cart a little and then he stops to pull his trousers up. Ugh, it looks so sweet.

Where was I? Child labour. Yeah, so in a family where there is most likely seven children, one wife and overly sick parents, a father is bound to ask his elder son for help. Sometimes when that isn’t enough, he asks the younger ones. That is the reality of those below the poverty line.

We speak so much about making this country incredible again, but those are the people who practice their speech while sitting in a room chilled with air-conditioning.

The reality and the principles, they do not match and never will. That is the harsh reality of this country.”

In case you found my little write-up to be rather horrible, my silent friend, let me clarify something. The little bit of writing that I do is what I would consider average even on my best days. Even after so much practice, my writing prowess is still one dimensional.

But I still write.

One of those write-ups captured the sensibility, another captured the rush. The need to capture the moment.

“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect – Anais Nin.”

The point is this, writing, in its purest form, is cathartic. When you write down your most basal thoughts, your desires, things that bother you, and everything else under the sun that somehow influences your life, you realize or confront a part of you that you never knew existed. Am I making sense so far?

Layers, my dear, layers, everything consists of layers and writing unravels them one at a time.

Nitesh Mishra, Sketches by Nitesh.

Would you like another Reader?

I’ve been so drained lately. I’m not one of those people who like blaming writer’s block but that is what this is. I’d like some inspiration. It’s been a while since I sat down to really read.

If you think you have the right content for me, please leave a link in the comments to any post of yours that you’d like to share with me. I will be sure to check it out!

– The Obsessive Writer