There is only the next project.
The next learning opportunity.
The next idea that comes to mind.

It’s not that the water’s too cold
Or even that it’s brown
It’s just the holes that let it in
That really get me down
It’s not the wind that makes me cry
Or what you didn’t say
There’s just too many holes in this sail
To let me sail away
It’s not that I’m afraid to jump out and swim
Off into the sea
There’s just nowhere else that I know
I would rather be
Words by Sinclaire. Photograph by Elisabeth.
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scraped and swollen, severed
by the effort of finding you in bed
our mattress frame is dangerous, turned
backwards to avoid scratching the walls
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