poetry
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This short poem explores the “fawn response,” a trauma instinct often rooted in childhood CPTSD. Told through the metaphor of a newborn fawn, it reflects the fear, abandonment, and survival coping patterns many people carry into adulthood without realizing it. This piece is for anyone who’s ever felt small, unsafe, or shaped by circumstances they…
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Some people crave comfort- I crave expansion. ••• “Salted Truths + Umami Dialect” Written by Shelly Moore Caron • I’d never ever claim to know everything. Hell, not even close. I am every bit as lost as the next person. But– I am a perpetual and insatiable student of this existence. Craving the formation of…
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“Mother’s Ghost” By Shelly Moore Caron • Is anyone truly happy? I doubt they ever are. We wear our suits of armor To cover up the scars. • I spend most days in mourning For a life that isn’t mine, Trading every quiet longing For what I’ve left behind. • A mother’s love knows no…
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Don’t believe the algorithm. Most humans are still breathtaking. Watch without the glass between you: The littles climbing bus stairs, Backpacks too big, Grins too wide, Mothers waving like lighthouse beams. You can feel the love radiate, And you’re allowed to borrow some — A sip, a spark, Just enough to keep going For one…
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A poem about projection, conditioning, kindness, and the strange contradictions of being human. A dark-feminine dissection of what shapes us — and what we refuse to see.
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An intimate poem about rejecting small talk and craving depth — the kind of conversations that cut through polite pleasantries and reach soul-level truth.
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“I’m Sorry, But…” by Shelly Moore Caron ©️ 2025 •• I’m sorry, but… Nobody on this planet gives a single shit about you. Until you really get this — you’re doomed. You’ll spend your whole adult life Steeping in why’s. The only person who can save you… is you. • You’re holding everyone to a…
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Not all famines strike the belly. Some live beneath the ribcage, where marrow aches for what it’s never given.
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©️ 2025 Limitless Stimulus ••• “Soul Sediment” by Shelly Moore Caron • Wise words flow beneath the chaotic chatter of a mind in overdrive. They battle with my need for validation in order to survive. Imagine colorful layers of strata as they’ve settled over time: the bottom layer solid, the top in motion all the time. The wind blows and the sand moves, …
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