Caytoncox - Hello Poetry

If you’re reading this, know this, and this only. The power of thought is everything and nothing and more nothing. You can split that same run down idea over and over. What you should’ve done. What you could’ve done. Two wolves battling it out. They die and come back over and over. Sleepless. Maybe one more go will find the answer. More suffering the harder you hold on but what if? What if you let go? What if this was it?” What if? If you’re reading this, know that it can be different and that's everything.

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May 25

May 25, 2026 at 5:26 PM UTC

The Power of Thought.

If you’re reading this, know this, and this only. The power of thought is everything and nothing and more nothing. You can split that same run down idea over and over. What you should’ve done. What you could’ve done. Two wolves battling it out. They die and come back over and over. Sleepless. Maybe one more go will find the answer. More suffering the harder you hold on but what if? What if you let go? What if this was it?” What if? If you’re reading this, know that it can be different and that's everything.

22

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 the branches of trees until it fades Into the blue of the sky. It’s spring.

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May 4

May 4, 2026 at 10:08 PM UTC

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 the branches of trees until it fades Into the blue of the sky. It’s spring.

14

My body clung to the chair from clothes just tossed, clean of course but might as well be ***** 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.

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Apr 19

Apr 19, 2026 at 7:15 PM UTC

Melodrama

My body clung to the chair from clothes just tossed, clean of course but might as well be ***** 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.

22

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.

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Apr 18

Apr 18, 2026 at 4:41 PM UTC

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.

12

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.

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Apr 12

Apr 12, 2026 at 8:39 PM UTC

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.

14

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 wings an 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 hope.

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Apr 11

Apr 11, 2026 at 6:09 PM UTC

a little hope

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 wings an 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 hope.

20

The melt of the snow is a smothering of colors as green murmurs, A smell of gunk left by animals and decay. Textures like a mess of renewal. An expanding mess of browns as dead leaves from last year peak through. My hands are in the muck, shovels of flesh as my finger nails capture the dirt. My fingers penetrate the petty feeling of wanting to be wanted. I want to grow something worth seeing, and without words you know happiness is there. I tell them not to worry, forget even the space I take. I dig and dig. I know I can grow something worth loving.

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Apr 7

Apr 7, 2026 at 6:01 PM UTC

Winter has Ended

The melt of the snow is a smothering of colors as green murmurs, A smell of gunk left by animals and decay. Textures like a mess of renewal. An expanding mess of browns as dead leaves from last year peak through. My hands are in the muck, shovels of flesh as my finger nails capture the dirt. My fingers penetrate the petty feeling of wanting to be wanted. I want to grow something worth seeing, and without words you know happiness is there. I tell them not to worry, forget even the space I take. I dig and dig. I know I can grow something worth loving.

23

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.

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Mar 28

Mar 28, 2026 at 7:47 PM UTC

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.

7

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.

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Mar 28

Mar 28, 2026 at 7:45 PM UTC

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.

11

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 along as I move like a hand along a hip. I’m driving away and never towards. Thinking about him.

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Jan 31

Jan 31, 2026 at 11:21 AM UTC

-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 along as I move like a hand along a hip. I’m driving away and never towards. Thinking about him.

13