how many times have i given myself to another being just to keep them around? how many times have i pleased another person just to feel justified for having them be apart of my life. how much of myself is left, i’m dying to know, because with each body that carried me home each night, carried a piece of me when they left the next morning, i am no longer whole. with the emptiness i displace with loneliness, i fill myself up with small gestures, and tiny love stories. with deep breaths, and low moans. the diamond mine between my legs is desolate. hasn’t seen the sparkle of a jewel in years, instead it’s lain dormant. sleeping, yet filled with ghosts, each a name. each a baseball. each falling from my loose glove jaw.