Obsidian Words
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Fathomless is the mind full of stories.
Achievements (7)
Stories (182)
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Mute Porcelain
The sunrise kissed her face with the wake of day, the hues of fairy floss and mandarin adding a glimmer of colour to her otherwise pale complexion; but she couldn’t feel its warmth, or admire its beauty. The glowing orb climbed through the blue sky, casting shadows for tiny critters to scurry between. Not one soul paid her any mind.
By Obsidian Words5 years ago in Poets
Transcendence
This was written when I was so young that I look back now in awe of how verse I was in the language of love and how complex and unexpected it can be, how painful. I curse the world for letting a teenager understand something in such a way so young but am thankful at the same time that I learnt early to look twice at something before naming it.
By Obsidian Words5 years ago in Poets
Symbolic Sounds and Sunny Spots
This is me, this chaotic, confounding, creature of cataclysmic proportions, collected and confined within this container that I call home. I am free-flowing rivers racing into waterfalls and fierce fires that feed on every fragment they can find. I am the isolated shards of ice in your veins. I am a vicious vulture circling and consuming untucked, uncensored thoughts. I am the Earth beneath, benevolent and alarmingly unpredictable. I am the air in your lungs, either acidic or alkaline, but always light even when it feels heavy. I am the kaleidoscope of colour captured in every pin-head propped-up poster or pixel that parades across your vision. I am all the tiny things we’ve yet to discover or decode; deep space, dark matter, dragons, the meaning of life. You are all these things too.
By Obsidian Words5 years ago in Poets
Because I Said So.
Because I said so. Man those words grated on me. I could feel the indignation churning in my chest, bubbling up into a scream. I held it in for the sake of those around me not privy to my internal turmoil. I ground my teeth together as I made my way across the grounds to where my car was parked, its dull yellow paint tempting me with a chance of brief solace.
By Obsidian Words5 years ago in Psyche
Scattered Fragments
One time, somewhere in that field of possibility; time and time again, we sit a while. Just this once, without getting anywhere; maybe again tomorrow, if it comes, we will have to see. We could be doing anything but there is just thought, or the idea of more, we can dream for a moment. Not again. What are we doing? I’m not even sure it matters. Time is the observation of change but I’m so unobservant and it all changes anyway, so what does it matter?
By Obsidian Words5 years ago in Poets
Fragments of a Shattered Soul
I will examine all the fragments that I have gathered on these pages; each acting in the theatre of nostalgia or remorse. I will hold each portion under my internal microscope and distinguish the details of their frozen scenes. I can see that some are aged and some new-born. A few are worn and weary whilst some leave scriptures on my skin, and write sequels in the scars they sketch afresh. I have written an abundance of heartache in each shade I’d claim to know, but that’s a pebble to the moon in retrospect. No matter how I try though, these pages won’t sit flush and they seem to be re-written over time. So my story will stay shattered and scattered about the lawn like so many Autumn leaves; and I shall lie among this library rebellion with whoever allows their fluttering.
By Obsidian Words5 years ago in Poets
A Whisper to a Scream
I have always been one who loved the Earth through all things huge and tiny. I was never in shoes as a child and would be in, under or around trees most of the time; or I would be at the beach. I grew up to the sound of waves, the sting of sand and salt whipped up by wind or the lulling calm of the rhythmic crashing. I grew accustomed to it; a blessing and a curse. Being so close to the immensity that is the ocean and having it become home, meant that I forgot that not all is as it seems. I became complacent and never fully considered the darker truth behind the huge breaks and pretty shells.
By Obsidian Words5 years ago in Earth
Anxty Scribbles Pt.3
I asked myself why I am content with empty moments. Appreciation, those moments allow me to reflect on the things I am truly grateful for. And I can barely indulge in a moment without straying to thoughts of you. I can withstand moments that you do not reside in for the simple fact that I could spend eternity with you and it would still not be enough. So the difference of a moment and forever is merely perception.
By Obsidian Words5 years ago in Poets
Anxty Scribbles Pt.4 (Final)
I don’t think you see it, the side of me that can never understand, where every time you hesitate it’s proof that all my doubts were right. I don’t know how to go slow where everything is questions and I never get answers. I don’t know how to feel ok when I can only see the reason for you holding back as uncertainty, and I don’t blame people for their hesitation but it will always mean I doubt anyone will ever truly want all that I am. I don’t know if I can spend every day wondering why you don’t want to call me yours or why you seem to recoil at the idea of me calling you mine. I have always said I’d be honest and when I really look at it all this hesitation seems to be doing is building a wall around me and brick by brick I lose sight of what I saw when I first looked at you and I feel like I’m clawing at this wall desperate to hold onto the best thing that's walked into my life in so long but then I stop and think I may as well leave it there to protect myself because I’m so scared of facing the possibility that it might all fall to shit. I see myself so much as something people can only take so much of, so when you said you needed to take time I was ok with it but the longer it goes on, the more I feel like it’s just you waiting for something better and you can turn blue saying that’s not the case but my past will always make me wary of people's intentions. I am not the kind of person, when I am myself, that will ever stop someone I care from doing what they love, but I can’t be myself when every moment is a question and every hesitation is answers I don't want to hear. The thing is, you are worth waiting for, but this isn’t me waiting for you to be ready, this is me giving you everything I am and just hoping that someday you will find that it’s good enough. I know there is a thrill of it all being closed doors and hiding but that is losing its spark very quickly when I can’t hold your hand in public and be proud of you openly because I have to fear who will see and how people will react. I don’t need to run headfirst into things but I can’t act how we do behind closed doors and just turn it off because people might see when we walk outside. I’m sorry, I know you’re happy with how it is because it’s the perfect balance of getting what you want from life without risking permanence so you’re free to wander off when you need too; but I need to do this right for me. I need someone to want me just as much, I need someone to be without a doubt, I need to feel safe and to not have to question everything I do when someone else is nearby. I need to not turn slowly more and more cold and ruin a good thing with my fear. And sorry this is written poorly but it was hard for me to admit, but I think we need to take a step back until you’re ready to move on fully because while I don’t blame your need for time, I’ve spent years being ready and I can’t jump off this cliff and not be caught.
By Obsidian Words5 years ago in Poets
Anxty scribbles Pt.2
I feel like I spend my time staring at a pane of glass, the troubles of my life, and the joys, reflecting back at me through a haze of glare in the confusing myriad where I'm not sure what's the real world and what's behind. One thing is clear though, you're on the other side of that glass and if i press my hands to the shape of yours I feel like I can taste the warmth of your palms beneath mine. I know that I would break that glass in a heartbeat to weave my fingers into yours but every time I try I find myself held back by bindings I cannot break. My eyes plead with yours to break through and free me but you sit there tapping at the glass with fingernails click-clicking and I realise its because you are afraid. The glass might cut you if you shatter it and you cannot bare to bleed and I hate that you hesitate and hate myself more for being OK with you spilling red so I can kiss it all better. Despite this I know that were I free I would throw myself through that barrier and shred my skin to tatters like so many razors spelling out my desperation. But instead I'll wait for you to walk past and unobstruct the view or to learn how to open the damn window and pull me through.
By Obsidian Words5 years ago in Poets
