My mind wears its own heartbeat. Place your thumb, finger on my left lobe wait for direction. My mind will not fail you. My heart however is not to be trusted. It is the size of a frog, a frog’s heart; a blood pearl. And if you believe that, if you consider the lie I’ve just told of my heart, then you do not listen. Granted I’m half girl, tadpole; my lungs withhold air and water, yet my mind has its own beat. My heart is not small. I can tell you what I have lost. Zen’s trick of placement: picture what you desire, close your eyes, look to the left. I am the blood pearl. What is misplaced waits in the corner. My heart and my mind are brothers or sisters, they switch genders at random, they cannot be defined by their genitalia.