poetry
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A poem about the quiet imbalance between body and mind—and the way of being human that lives in between.
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A poem about what we carry after the war is over — the parts of ourselves we hide, protect, and keep alive beneath the scars.
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This poem explores the difference between people who live on the surface of their own lives and those willing to dig deeper into truth, discomfort, and self-discovery. Using earthy, visceral metaphors of soil, worms, hooks, and the hidden work beneath the surface, it reflects on courage, avoidance, and the raw honesty required to grow. A…
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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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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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“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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