Composing my Words

My name is Cayton Cox. This is my blog full of writing of questionable quality. Either way I enjoy it and hopefully you do too. 

[composingmywords]

Another Spring

Forget everything  but when I was at my best  when I was your flirty little thing and nothing could go wrong.

It’s a calamity, oh baby  The turning from winter  and nothing’s better than the color green.

And so we are now nothing, No more than the melted snow draining into soil but baby,

 It’s spring.

It’s spring.

[composingmywords]

New Season

Guess I thought 

I was someone important 

to you

and now we don’t speak

 as if we were strangers. 

I don’t know anymore

  I just.

It’s all a breeze in the wind.

A collection of distant sounds.

 You’re a name 

framed between branches of

trees until it fades

Into the blue of the sky.

It’s spring.

[composingmywords]

Melodrama

My body clung to the chair from clothes just tossed, clean of course but might as well be dirty now. My eyes are looking at the frame of the window. The Alaskan sky is blue today, the type of blue that makes you feel like you could fall upward. Wouldn’t it be lovely to be the falcon? To trace the edges of the clouds looking between and always between because it’s not enough to hear what someone says. You have to parse between to find the heart of it. It could always be a delusion. The yearning to find the hidden love in the pauses. Does he look at me differently? Could this be something?

I can’t stop thinking about you. It makes me wish I could go looking for you as if you were lost here and not countries away. I’m not divine waiting to split the sea or walk on it. I’m just a man waiting at the window. Waiting.

[composingmywords]

Melted Snow

It's spring now, and it wasn't anything but I think I love him.

We split like a morning orange peeled until we were strangers.

We are left with the flesh with what was, our names seeds again.

Maybe one day will meet at the garden.

[composingmywords]

The Breeze

I want to matter like one of the trees. They frame the park in this wide opening around the hill. Each tree gives a slight sway upon the breeze. I stand at the highest elevation, my toes anchored as I bring my branches above. I can feel the breeze too. We don’t have to be alone. We are part of something greater.

[composingmywords]

I don't want to believe in purpose. I don't want to believe that I am worthy of more than misery. What would it mean if I was?

I wait for the sun to rise along the Alaskan costal trail. I am tired but sleep is a long off thought. My eyes graze along mountains as if they were in arms reach. On the wings of pink and orange blazes from the long off peaks. Warmth, a hug flung upon the world. The color green is coming to life in the trees. Small birds calling and I imagine they know my name.

All this time I've sank into the night where I thought I was nothing.

I admit, I have a little hope.

[composingmywords]

Winter has Ended

The melt of snow is a smothering of colors as green murmurs. Their is a smell of gunk left by what was. Textures like a vomit of renewal. An expanding mess of browns as I shuffle last year around.

My hands are in the muck, shovels of flesh as my finger nails capture dirt. The petty feeling of wanting to be wanted.

To grow something worth seeing, and without words you know happiness is there.

I tell them not to worry, forget the space I take. I dig and dig. I know I can grow something worth loving.

[composingmywords]

A Bloom

Finding words where I don't want them, upon a branch a broken clock. Bare and born of snow. I haven't felt like myself lately. Work breaching the sea over and over. All I do is dream between. Spring is within reach. It all could be framed with leaves. Maybe all this could be something better.

A bloom.

[composingmywords]

Untouched

The craving of flesh and pleasure drive home a thirst inside me so strong it leaves me hollow. I imagine finding a man’s eyes who could fill me up the same way you do a pitcher. The flowers are dying outside and I resent how badly I wish a man could say my name and remind me why I’m alive.

[composingmywords]

One of my Walks

I’d be remiss to say that I hadn’t thought of you throughout my day.

The Alaskan sun going down later and later dragging my shadow along with it.

The bikers cut through air and the plane glides and the blue has never been bluer

and

I can’t stop the thought of you as the shade eats at the ground.

The clouds are drifting creating different shapes but not in the shape of you.

I don’t know what love is,

I don’t know what love is,

but it must have something to do with you.

[composingmywords]

Write the Poem

Everyone is eventually forgotten  to be the space between words. A forgotten object. A ghostly post left on the net. A body eroding away until something new can take a seat.  To fear a life yet lived. To chase the idea of a life. I just want to be here because I am here. I’m writing this and that’s all this has to be.

[composingmywords]

-13

I’m outside scraping away at the windshield

thinking how the lips of a man would be

a soothing end 

     to winter.

       It’s so easy to crave spring when everything is frosted over in crystal.

 They shimmer, as the light, an idea of warmth       dances.  

    Each inhale a dull ache. 

       The exhale a churning fog.

The road bends as I move a hand along the hip.

 I’m driving away and never towards. 

Thinking about him.

[composingmywords]

Schrodinger's Marriage

I think about kissing you all the time. You probably have a partner now. I presented myself with the Schrodinger's cat of marriage. I don’t want to open that box, I want to know less about you, be in the one memory where we kissed and that was it. We had our names and these feelings. We made it, at least to the bedroom where we touched until we lost warmth. The only thing left to burn were the things we always wanted to say but didn’t.

[composingmywords]

The lines in my palms  are canyons collecting water.  The slick fingers pressing between stones looking for the perfect one. The soft curves melt around my fingers. The daggers flat with layers of color. Pebbles that fit in between the spaces. When does a rock become a boulder? When does a pebble become sand? I put them down gently as if each one was a human heart. The mud dispersing itself in the tide as it claims the beach like a sleeve.  Everything comes and goes. So do I.

[composingmywords]

The Childhood Hill

Empty to be filled in. A home, a mouth, a name that echoes. The rattle of each letter. The breeze, an exhale. Memory playing out as if We did this before. I’m yearning for what is far away on a wind. The clouds move before the throne of street beacons. A parking lot with no cars. I run up the hill knowing you won’t be there. Pink cotton candy clouds, looming mountains in twilight blue. I can’t stop thinking about you.

[composingmywords]

He applied lip balm rolling it over pink hills as if he was painting. 

I asked “what is this all for?”

He replied. “For chapped lips.”

“No, this,” I moved my arms wide sweeping them out like a bird as if I’d ascend.

“This?” He said holding the chapped stick in the dim light of the comet piercing the sky like his ear. “cherry flavor.”

“We do this until the end?”

“If you don’t want chapped lips, yes.”

[composingmywords]

Another Walk

A black and white cat in a driveway. I take a picture but it’s underexposed. I continue walking engrossed in thoughts I thought I could out walk. I gave up running because my knees hurt and it would catch up anyways. My wrist hurts, and I don’t know anymore. Where is my father? What would it be like to be close to my mother? Why am I here? What’s this all for anyway, I’m in the middle of a park. A giant bouncing castle takes up space like I do but the kids are laughing and do they know this space extends greater than the sky? I made it to the empty parking lot where I once waited for my friend's ex to take pictures of him on a skateboard but he never showed. Does he think about this, Whatever this is? No one checks in on me anymore but I forget I’m an adult and therapists exist like dentists who I hate waiting to pull on what you’re avoiding. 

Yet, I’m writing to avoid all of it.