Falling for you was never part of the plan
What started off as a harmless game turned into something I had to win

I was settled on the fact that we would be nothing more than just toys to each other
But when you kissed me in that closet and touched me in a way that was unfamiliar to me I knew I was *******
The constant denial that I felt any sort of attraction to you was failing

Suddenly endless texting turned into long sleepless nights, talking about our feelings and our past
Confessions came out and new experiences caught my attention

I found myself breaking all my rules for you and not regretting a single one
Rules that were put up for my own protection
Rules that would prevent me from feeling heartbreak ever again

But now here I am, falling deeper and deeper into something I have no idea as to where it will lead me
But as long as it's by you, I'm okay with whatever hurt I may have to face

write her a poem
on the back of a receipt from
two weeks ago

turn it into an airplane
and with all your might
fly it towards her direction

watch it land slowly
watch her pick it up
and laugh

jesus christ
she looks so pretty
when her eyes smile like that
but *******
you weren't prepared for
the crash

why didn't anyone teach you
how to wear a parachute

The things I would trade
To go back to the day
Before darkening storm
Took my happiness away

I'm thinking...

I want to ask...
Are you alright?

(I am concern)

They put her in a
Curtained cubicle
Surrounded by
Beeping machines
And all types of
Wires and terminals
A trashcan and
A dripping faucet

When they rolled her in
They gave her
Morphine
Sodium chloride
And a pat on the head

"She's lucky"
The nurse said
As he lowered the gurney
"A lot of people have
No one show up"

And he left the room
Pulled the curtain closed
We were left with the
Tranquil beeping of
Faceless terminals
And the dripping faucet

Another nurse came in
With a clipboard
And started asking us
Questions
Apologizing for
The beeping
"It's like Chinese
Water torture"

Then she left
Pulled the curtain closed
And when the
Heart monitor
Started beeping
We pushed the
Silence button like
They showed us

We were left with
The sterile squeaking
Of the soles of sneakers
And hollow whispers
In the hallway
And the dripping faucet

I wonder how many books you've read on creativity.
Have they made nearly as much sense as your writing does to me?
(In that case, it's probably not very many.)
I often wonder what it is that makes one poet better than another at poetry.
Is it something in the ability to let go?
To feel free to type wildly regardless of judgement/ego/typos?

I doubt it.