Longing is the loneliness that follows a broken heart.

       a fried seashell in the heat of summer that got buried under sand,

             waiting for rescue.

I fell in love when I was twelve years old

       she had durasteel arms and plexiglass fingernails

                and rusted veins,

                        running thick with pipe-water blood.

I was given an image of love on a subway

                on the first day that I visited the city.

One woman said, “Give me your hand” and the other said back,

    “only if you give me yours”

     every inch of my skin is a stereotype of what my mother wanted me to become.

On bad nights, I hold hands with the trees and the air

        and we watch the ravens fall from the sky, my brain telling me to hold on tight

     and the rest of me screaming to let go.

When I was born they wrote my name in imperishable ink,

                So that when I felt like erasing myself, I would have to search for something

                       stronger than rubber

                             to get the job done.