mile-conde
I'm Milena Conde. I live in Argentina. I don't seem to fit in our society, even though I try really hard to. I'm too afraid to love and be loved but I try to live the moment up. I'm 15 and the things I love most in this world are cooking, my cat Coconut and, last but not least, my best friend Evelyn. She is amazing and she writes also. If you want, check her profile out: Evelynn. Thank you all for reading and letting me share this messed up thing that is my life.
A child turns from his full plate
Goes off to play
A greedy teen licks it clean
And asks for more
A man who cannot taste
Takes what he can before leaving for work
A grown man takes what he gets
And enjoys every drop of the taste
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
Anger flows through me. It's rapid and unstoppable. Savage waves of strong emotion perform furious tosses and turns inside me. They are maddening, and yet still majestic. I can't take them out. They will take over me and I wont be able to do anything about it. They can't transform into tears; I'm too angry. Ragging flames can't turn into water. Oh my, what shall I do? My fingers twitch nervously trying to find a solution. My hands know it before my brain can process it and I grab a nearby pen.
I grab the aching pencil and a poor notebook that was there at the wrong time. My victims are waiting to be messengers of my dilemmas. Writing tool in hand, I fiercely attack the innocent paper. Rage pours from my soul to my hand and through the pen, to end up in the form of not-so-neatly-written letters. Words start to take form, and later on, sentences. Those sentences are screaming so loud but they are silenced, trapped in the sheet of paper. My words are are charged with everything that once was in inside me, poisoning me and my objective view of life. Words flow from my fingers in fast, impatient movements. I'm anxious, but it will be over soon.
I stop. It's all out. Now that all of that, all my frustration, is all in the ink-marked paper. It looks at me in disgust, as the inky traces try to make their way out of the paper. They liked it better here. They had a more audible voice, they think? Not so true.
Every ounce of negativity has now left me and I'm exhausted but happy.
I relax and fall into the mattress of my comfy bed in the soundless night, and smile to myself.
My angry thoughts (turned into words) are shouting at me from the floor, where I left them, I can't help to laugh at the sight.
I sigh contentedly and drift off to a dreamless, unperturbed sleep.
Detached form my pessimism.
Happy.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 5:10 PM UTC
Why do you think that you have to keep pretending that you know what you are doing?
What do you want to accomplish?
Why do you live by expectations that are so high that they seem unreachable?
Why do you keep bothering yourself with silly things like living according to stupid social "rules"?
Please.
Deep down everyone is the same. Don't misunderstand me. I don't mean that we are all silvery robots with monotone voice tones and reboot buttons.
I just want you to know that nobody is what they appear to be. We, modern people, have an image for everyone to see that has absolutely nothing to do with us. So if you thing you are the only person in the world that gets what you are going through (whatever it is) you are wrong. Everyone struggles with their lives. They keep that barrier up for no one to see their true selves so they can't be hurt, judged or laughed at. They (why do I keep writing like I'm not one of them, of you?) hide from the world cause once one sees their true colors they are vulnerable. You open up and you let people cause you pain (and happiness, lets not forget. But I'm I no mood for optimism right now. Sorry positive people!)
So, would you rather tear your chest open for people to toss your heart around as if it were a football, or are you going to keep it in a tightly locked up box, so you can be miserable by yourself? The truth is, guys, life gives you no options. I decided to give the nice-to-meet-you game a try and well... I ended up writing this so you can just assume that it didn't end up well, and I'm only fifteen. ******* FIFTEEN.** So, yeah, it hit me now. The truth. You can't live without pain. What you can actually choose is who causes that pain.
I don't deal with this very well and I'm torn, yeah, but I'll get over it eventually. Life ***** sometimes. But other times it's so wonderful that it lifts your feet of the ground, and you feel like you are flying high above it all in the deep blue sky. (No, I don't do drugs or anything).
Here's what I think: Stuck your tongue out if you feel like it, have fun at times and others be sad (everyone has to be sad every once in a while to rest from all that happiness, ya know?) and be yourself except you are some kind of maniac ninja assassin.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 4:16 PM UTC
their voices are stolen away
but even if they were to get it back,
their lips are welded
and shackled to their fears.
theistic idols
shaped predominantly
by the culture in which one is raised.
contradictory fallacies
leading society away from
self dependency.
im tired of being a minority!
apparently your god bestowed to me
this voice
this brain
this body
this mind
so...
im utilizing it.
i refuse to be oppressed any longer
i refuse to believe i was created
by some deity that claims
people have the free will to do as they please.
If god gave man free will,
how can everything be a part of god's plans?
If everything is a part of god's plans,
how can we have free will?
I refuse to be oppressed any longer.
I dug deep within my fears
and yanked my voice back.
I no longer fear being a minority,
I embrace it.
a society where minorities are scared to have a voice?
stand up,
find your voice,
and use it.
We are more than outcasts.
We are minorities
and together,
we can eradicate the title.
We're human.
- d.b.d.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
he was a mystery in himself,
allowing me to have no trace of an idea of how he felt..
i was kind of mystery too, but the kind that if you got close enough you could easily find clues to whatever you were unsure of..
sometimes i wondered.. if behind closed doors he felt the way i did..
did he obsess? did he shed a tear? was he still awake at 4am?
of course he wasnt.. i was in this alone, werent i?
was it only me shedding the tears that burned my skin in the most beautiful way possible? was it only me obsessing over the things i would say & the things i wouldnt?
i believe it is only me..
but you know, i dream of a time where both he & i can feel the same unique feeling of love & bliss for one another, at the same time..
on the same level..
and for all the right reasons i have hope!
hope that he too will shiver at the wrath of my touch,
hope that he will open up to me enough so that even if i wanted to destroy him.. i would have the power to.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
and with a heart so empty,
so fill with nothing..
does it even still beat?
i dont know, i cant hear a thing!
with my thoughts so loud,
they never let me rest at night
& when i finally do close my eyes in hopes to escape..
i know that the sun rises again to give me hell.
when i try to forget you,
thats what makes it worse..
i try to eliminate the urge for you to hold me,
i would hope that my screams are louder than the sound of your voice,
that lingers throughout my body at 4am.
when will i find peace?
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 11:26 AM UTC
i allowed myself to destroy myself in the process of loving someone who could never love me back..
-an 18 word poem.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
ive been brooding,
lurking your pages,
thinking of how we would conflate so well..
do you think of me?
do you ever ask yourself, "does she exist?"
i admire your cynosure.
& i hope my eloquence impresses you.
will we ever be?
erstwhile.. maybe
im tired of relationships that are evanescent,
so when you get here, will you be here awhile?
i will imbue my love in you..
it'd require you to have interest in a non-ingénue being.
a being so brilliant that you will start to question your soul and the size of your crown, my King.
you will not become jaded,
inure,
for i am a Queen of lagniappe.
i will have you twisting and turning at the quakes of my soul..
is your mind as beautiful as mine?
is your soul as deep?
can we be panoply, i hope.
can our love be sempiternal..
wherewithal of our love.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
If I told you I loved you today it would mean nothing tomorrow.
Blowing the dust off of old poems, some that were never finished because who wants to listen to love soaked poetry?
Wringing out my thoughts onto paper for someone to read them. Making sure they mean something so someone can feel them.
The world is made up of poetry. Some get the chance to hear it and some have the chance to write it.
Only the lucky ones can feel it. So drift away in my words and hold them tight.
Sit alone and read them at night. Fall into my words and land in my thoughts.
One thing is for sure, we all die. But our words and poetry have a chance to live on.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC