The scrapbook in my brain
filled with shadows–
taped-up with half-things.
The scrapbook in my brain
connects patterns–
of misplaced fragments.
The scrapbook in my brain
whirls thoughts–
like paper clippings.
The scrapbook in my brain
solving questions
no one's asking.
About the Creator
Kiana Carda
“I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.” —Flannery O’Connor
Taking moments I disappeared, and unlearning all my fears.
Still finding my voice, happly learning out loud.
Would love any feed back x
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Off the Book
It ended like every other stupid idea. Badly, and alone. I’m researching digital confession ethics, he said. A tech ethicist. He gestured at floating data I couldn’t see then pulled out a physical notebook. Actual paper, fountain pen. He held it up like he was showing me scripture.
By Nicky Franklya day ago in Fiction
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