Lake or the Ocean?

I hide behind my mouth. Beneath my smile there lays a façade and a truth. 

Sometimes there’s so many of me that I’m so sick of it all. 

As the clock ticks, varieties of me dilute behind what I show to you and slowly I get tethered, I never intend for things like this to happen and sometimes I feel like a lake and as for the other times, my little lake brims unto the edge. 

My tiny lake overflowing while I still I hide behind my mouth

With façades and truths beneath my smiles,

Even as all this happens I cannot help but ask,

Little lake what’s up next? You’ve been flowing for miles. 

I try to belittle you but guess who’s winning the belittling game. What a petty little task?

Swallowing me whole making me spin and kick things and somehow I still sting. 

I wonder why, my little lake why do you do it all? What a shame, it’s all the same. 

Sometimes, just sometimes I like to think of what else you could bring. 

But I then think that I hope for too much even when I hope that you’re now tame. 

I hide behind my mouth. 

Beneath my smile there lays still, a façade, a truth. 

No matter how hard you try to let go of it, note that it isn’t a case of mere nail thinner. 

But do know, my dear ones that sometimes what I say to you is partly true too. 

Oh forget me being a little lake, 

My take on myself is merely just very unjust for I switch to whatever ends there may be, 

So forget me being a little lake, whatever I may be, wipe my words off the slate. 

I tend to go unpunished sometimes. 

Perhaps, I used to wonder, it’s the rules turning the lock and sealing my fate but now how I’d rather bend them all, yes, that’s been my new defining trait. 

Try to remove me, sure, but remember that the ocean isn’t just a case of mere nail thinner.

                                                        The Meticulous Button 


Thought Catalog #5

My words aren’t meant to contradict what I do, but the way I’m treated hurts the demon inside of me so much that it prods and kicks at me to let it out, the way I’m treated feels like deformed clay that anyone can leave a dent on. It burns right through my skin leaving me gasping for air; for I am indeed stuck in between, given too many thoughts, so many, that sometimes multiple demon babies grow up without notice. 

                                                            The Meticulous Button 


Oh do you know about the old lady who replaced the picture of her dead son with his daughter? Their resemblance is striking and very coincidental, but what she forgets is that she isn’t him, she doesn’t know her, just assumes to, her perspective like a broken down road full of concrete buildings and damaged things. She finds that right. She finds that beautiful and smart. Her assumptions, speculations and judgments are her humour. But a few nights I’m sure she looks up at the ceiling questioning everything like everyone does.

 Do you know of the men begging for customers to come inside their store and to have some tea, 

Hoping that they’ll buy something just so that they’ll fall right in with society. Soon they’ll all die not making a difference, 

You’d say I’m pessimistic and silly but I’d say that I’m realistic and right. They die not making a bare change, 

Selling half broken things to half broken people with fully broken minds. 

Praying and starving for a better world but how can the lack of food help you accomplish your goals with a lack of everything?

                                                                      The Meticulous Button

A Sadistically Short Story

She stood near the edge of her terrace, ready to jump, but before she did, 
Her life didn’t flash before her eyes, no,
Just moments that passed on that very terrace,

Oh, and the lights of the hospital bulbs, hung on the ceiling, seconds later, apparently.

                                                                                             The Meticulous Button 


Our relationship could be termed as something complex, fixating each other partly to be what we already are and as what I’m sure we’ll never be, they say it isn’t strong to hold on, it’s strong of you to let go but how can you let go of something that your imagination has built up? How can you let go of something that never was? And that’s what I think hurts a lot, you’re the same, no new scars etched onto you so that you can sigh and reminisce when you look into the mirror, you never teached, you never reached, you just existed in my life as that useless button on a button down shirt. The undeserved collateral damage I wish never existed. There’s so much more I wish I could write but I’d rather save it for later when life reminds me how you aren’t going to be there anymore.
                                                                              ~ T. M. B 

Capricious ecstasy 

She put a pretty flower in my hair, plucked out from a pretty garden with a pretty past, marred in scars,

She put it in my hair rather than hers; contradicting all that I thought of her. 

Soon she’ll continue choking and showering me with an overload of flowers of all sorts, overwhelming me, nothing new there. 

We’re a spark that I hope won’t ever die. 


                                                                                          ~ M. B