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 Feb 2019 Anthony Mayfield
Sophie
They asked me
''How did you get over him?''
''How did you get over him so quickly?"
I smiled and I laughed
A crazy laugh
I cried and I laughed
A silent cry
A crazy laugh
I told them
"I tricked my heart into believing that I didn't  need him."
The brain knows the truth, the heart is a sucker for love songs.
613 200 Hours
25 550 Days
13 Cars
11 Jobs
9 Dogs
6 Surgeries
5 Children
4 Grandchildren
3 Marriages
2 Siblings
1 Weary soul.
No regrets.
I say I'm okay
I tell you I'm fine
I don't want you to feel  
This hurting of mine

I feign indifference
I pretend I don’t care
I don’t want to bother you
With the pain I bare

I laugh and pretend  
That their words don't sting  
But Sometimes I feel  
They don’t know a thing  

Most write it off
As actualy fine  
But I know you see through
This façade of mine  

Now I'll say something  
You want to hear
Im sorry  
For hiding the pain my dear
Written in response to "Okay" By: Joliver
If there was one word
One word, isolated by itself
That I cannot stand above all others
It would have to be "Okay"
I despise "Okay"
"Okay"
Is how your millionth day at work went
"Okay"
Is off-brand raisin bran
"Okay"
Is how you say life is going
When you don't want to admit you spend
Every second of it
Wanting to die

"Okay"
Is packed to the brim with
Hidden implications
Like a treasure chest
Filled with bottles
With little subliminal hatreds
Written on tiny slips of paper
Passively aggressively pushed inside
To discover later
As I pull out a treasure map
And try to decipher
Where I went wrong

"Okay"
Is a one word dismissal
That feels like an essay a thousand pages long
"Okay"
Is a poison dripping with disinterest
When I dared to share with you
Something I thought might make you smile
"Okay"
Is like trying to talk to a wall
While watching the paint on it dry
"Okay"
Takes two seconds to write
Yet I waited days
For that dreaded word
To grace my notifications
"Okay"
Should be used sparingly
As if each time you send it
You **** the receiver just a little bit
"Okay"
Should not be said so often that
I know what you're about to say
Like I saw it in a crystal ball
"Okay"
Is not looking up from your phone
When I tell you about my day
"Okay"
Is not the proper response
To "I love you"

They say that the opposite of love isn't hatred
It's indifference
And I can't think of a response
More indifferent to pouring out
My heart into your hands
Than "Okay"
At least the last thing you said to me
Before we parted ways
Showed that you cared
At least a little bit
"I hate you"
Stung less
Than the thousands of times
Over our countless conversations
You responded
"Okay"
Okay?
 Feb 2019 Anthony Mayfield
ali
i fell in love
with a boy
who is not poetry.

he is not
ink and paper
but rather
bones and blood,
curves and edges
smooth
beneath my fingertips.

he is not
definitive words
but rather
light laughter
and soft kisses,
heaven
in a few seconds.

he is not
full of hidden meanings
but rather
giving his entirety
to a girl
who needs to use it
as a blanket.

he is not
poetry.
he cannot fit
inside these lines,
be found
within finite words.
he cannot hide
between periods,
squeeze
into stanzas.

i cannot make him
poetry.
he is perfection
and poetry
is too broken
for a love like his.
i've written very few legitimate poems about him and wonder why... he's too much to fit into words, a poem isn't enough
A horror movie scene as the heroine escapes.
Everything is still besides her convalescing breath and the distant, chasing wind.
Not a noise is heard except the fall leave's rattle and the birch wood's moaning bark in the moonlight.
Her body slouches into the protection of a lone shed, and shrouds itself in the aroma of cut grass.
A tense brow relieves and tired eyes close, thankful to receive the momentary peace.

A possible misstep turns the wary peace on end with the jagged cut of broken leaves. The once relieved brow now concedes surprise as wild eyes are cast towards an opaque barricade.
Sly pieces of garden equipment leash a weathered jacket in place as she attempts to stand.
A cackle is heard, a shriek undone.
To spite the brittle wood, the formulaic jump-scare-skeleton-hand bursts through the shed's solicitous walls, set to declare the last of a weary soul as his own.
The wind catches up and spearheads any hole it can find.
It begins whistling around the dim room like a tornado elated to havoc behind a castle's walls.
The tree bark howls, the leaves, now delight.
We learn there is no reprieve for a begging champion.
The camera backs out of the splintered hole, and pans over a silhouetted forest to face the waning moon.
The hero succumbs with muted screams to a gore far below and out of frame.

Our only closure, a black screen, with bright white letters, slowly scrolling up.


The end.
Just something I had fun writing, figured not posting it would be a waste despite it not being "poetry", just an experiment I guess. I feel like it would be good, in like, a high-school, short story competition. *****.
they told me
my father died quietly
in his sleep
at 2 a.m.

with his pain-ridden last years
I think he was not unhappy
to go farther for once
return to the cosmos he came from
wake up painless
     at peace
floating in the universe
he had admired from mountain peaks
all of his life
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