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When I'm in bed the unwritten words beat against my skull like frenzied
flies in a jar, so full of energy a spark could graze the static of my nightie
and start a fire as I sleep; if I don't write, my ideas will burn forgotten...
my unborn poems thinner than smoke.
They're watching Into the Wild.

I can hear it from the other room,
with the sound, I can hear which parts they're on.
Why do I still cry over it? Why does his journey strike me so deeply?

I think of all the beautiful things he's seen. I know he's seized something deeper than most of us ever get to touch. His life begins at the end of the road.

Maybe I want to sit in the front of that bus too, to gaze into white, spacious silence,
to feel it recede from me outwards.
Maybe I want to see that sunlight too, from the window of a car. With my feet towards the sea.
I don't want to be dulled. I don't want to just move from one thing to the next. I want to be happy.

To tell the truth, this movie has made me feel as if I should reconsider moving towards so much darkness and suffering with my interests, and steeping my life in that.
Does that mean I need to at least find some balance, to know how to hold on to the light?
Or does it mean I'm on the right track with wanting to help others, with wanting to share, if not happiness, then hope?

When I think of McCandless, I picture a flame. Carried in his chest the way he carried his pack, wavering with the movement of each step yet never going out.
Chris walked away from from his life and entered the world, took in everything it had to offer him. At every moment. There's a certain power in that. We all get to live, and we all, at some point, express happiness, contentment or gratitude for our lives. But Chris knew what life meant and he went after it. Life, the choice of it, being alive.

He never lost that light.
Chris McCandless
These are my thoughts two days after watching into the Wild, when my parents decided to watch it. I was in the kitchen, having just finished the PBS documentary about Chris and his family's story. This story has moved me so much in a way I still can't completely understand, so I've tried writing about it. It's not poetry, but it's self-reflection. Anyone who's read the book and/or watched the movie can tell me what they think.
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There's a gratefulness when your energy gets up and walks again,
when your mind turns back on.

Although the toast still scrapes your sick throat
and the house remains quiet,
your veins will pulse, the words return flapping towards the page.

As you turn towards the window,
remember how you've shuttered yourself through the winter equinox,
this one and the world's.

You can see now where your stride will take you.

The days are getting longer again.
Convalescence
I haven't written any poetry since I left England and came back here. Part of that had to do with adapting to home, part of that had to do with all these plans and commitments I had, and a big part of it had to do with getting really sick, where I had a bad sore throat and felt sluggish all the time. This whole time I've been badly wanting to write poetry again, and had made some efforts to read some poetry in order to get inspired, but it wasn't until I was completely caught off guard that the creative electricity in me so suddenly switched on again, and I wrote this. I'm so happy, now I know a bit of how Rilke must've felt after one of his dry spells.
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(Contains: violence/gore)
I had a dream I was with my family, woke up here.
Missed home, remembered that America is burning
at the broken bridges of our different skin.
Thankfulness sits at the edge of the scene, shy
and unsure how to enter. There is none of it now
that is not hollow.

What should burn in me remains hollow,
limp and useless when I am an ocean away from the storm, when I am here.
I can hear the throat-ripped shouts, the sound of now
the loudest thing ringing. The sight of buildings burning
drains the appetite for even the pretense of cheer. Shy
is the mouth at a time like this, when it’s set in my skin.

Grey is the color of the English sky’s skin,
bigger than a body, six times as hollow.
The people are shy
with shock, a six-bullet body doesn't happen here.
Only London was burning
with protest, shouting out the same “now.”

All time zones recognize a now.
Now is the instant the world hears of blood-stained skin
lying on the street, burning.
A holiday back home should not make this hollow,
and there is no excuse to turn your head here.
America has not been shy

about what we’re not grateful for. There’s been enough shy
voices that hesitate to speak before the gun. When we sit, now,
at the table, does its sound echo here?
It depends on the family’s skin.
Some hearts are hollow,
others are burning.

As the stove keeps burning
for the family feast, remember that we aren't shy
of fuel for a different fire. One that doesn't lick the hollow
edge of a pot but is still smoking now
on the streets, among the ashes. In our skin.
It has never not been here,

but it has cast off shyness now,
burning brighter, forging a thicker skin
to cover the hollow throats that shout they've had it up to here.
Thanksgiving '14
I wrote a sestina about the uncomfortable overlap between Thanksgiving and Ferguson from the perspective of being abroad (I'm studying in England at the moment). It's probably the longest poem I've ever written.
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Isabelle
Artist | Hobbyist | Varied
United States

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:iconfangsandneedles:
FangsAndNeedles Featured By Owner 4 days ago  Student General Artist
thanks for the fav :)
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:iconforgetyoself:
forgetyoself Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Hobbyist General Artist
you're so welcome! ^_^
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:iconshaitu:
shaitu Featured By Owner 6 days ago   Photographer
thank you for faving
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:iconforgetyoself:
forgetyoself Featured By Owner 1 day ago  Hobbyist General Artist
you're welcome :meow:
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:iconbluecaroline:
BlueCaroline Featured By Owner Jan 3, 2015  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank you Isabelle & Happy New Year!

Snowflake Snowflake Snowflake Snowflake  :snowman:  Snowflake Snowflake Snowflake Snowflake 
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:iconforgetyoself:
forgetyoself Featured By Owner Jan 3, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Yes, happy new year! :hug:
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:iconpajunen:
Pajunen Featured By Owner Dec 30, 2014  Hobbyist Photographer
Thanks for the fav!
Happy New Year!
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:iconkariliimatainen:
KariLiimatainen Featured By Owner Dec 28, 2014  Hobbyist Photographer
:bow: for :+fav:
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:iconforgetyoself:
forgetyoself Featured By Owner Dec 28, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
You're welcome! :D
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:iconwytherwing:
wytherwing Featured By Owner Dec 26, 2014
:) thank you for the :+fav:'s :rose:
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