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I don’t give my plants enough water.
I don’t give any to myself.
I don’t know how they’re all still alive.
I don’t know how to ask for help.

You always go and leave.
You never ask if I'm okay.
You just leave me to rot.
You let the bad habits stay.

I can’t seem to ever fill my cup
without your hands holding me up.
idek
I am no longer your light,
the solace to your empty cosmic prison.
I refuse to accept the pain you weigh on my chest.
I am a formidable fortress, welcoming none
of your darkness.

I am a universe, expanding

with each breath I take.
soon, I will be too far from you to see
the dark matter plaguing your infinite cavity.

your pain can no longer affect
my growth into the unknown,
for I am no longer afraid of the dark.
about a toxic ex plaguing your growth!!
bess goldstein Aug 2021
I crease inwards like origami
inside this humid summer night
skin of sugar and sweat
feeling inevitable, waiting

I’m not ready to say goodbye
if only you could trace my smile
like an architect, uncover the splintered shape of the city we met in
entangled in my tendons and bones

I’d let you watch me destroy it all
I’d let you hold the end of me
as I hold the beginning
About changing, and trusting someone to watch you change and be there for you. Change is vulnerable
bess goldstein Oct 2020
my bed sits, empty as my pocket
bearing nothing more than your old promises
collecting dust, waiting to be heard again
by someone willing to listen.
it breaks me down, every time
I feel you near me
haunting my empty bed
with your sharp teeth.
my body knows your words
can still cut me at my throat
so I wait
patiently, for your blade
to appear beside me
without your hand to hold it.
bess goldstein Mar 2020
your letters, written to coax an empty heart.
an illusion written with dying lead,
begging to fade away.
it is still beautiful, marching in formation
on the loose leaf paper towards the end.
your signature,
which stands to be the only thing left true.
I keep it,
a reminder how lies are beautiful
in your handwriting.
bess goldstein Mar 2020
you say, I am too much for you,
similar to never being enough.

I find myself staggered between
the tipping of the scale.
balance is the illusion that
gravity has created to pull you
closer to me.

why must I lose parts of myself
for you to finally see me?
some things are better left unsaid
bess goldstein Feb 2020
the piano you played for me
their keys light like the sun
in your eyes gently playing me
a song we wrote between shared cups
of tea, picked flowers in the field
shoved into a pocket always big enough to fit
both of our hands.
love :)
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