chased across the country.
stowed away in cars —
travelling red dust roads.
big skies
of long white clouds.
the silences
a safety bubble,
a soothing balm calm.
a respite from the noise —
just the humming of the car.
i showed up
in my child form.
scraped layers from
the girl
i tried to see
what most think broke...
still working on my scars.
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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More stories from Kiana Carda and writers in Fiction and other communities.
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 Frankly5 days ago in Fiction
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