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At the beginning other people were writing my story
Because I was too young and bathed in innocence to even know what a pen is, what a pen can do
So they scribbled my story like a rushed school paper, with an old cheap pen that found halfway under their couches
Filling it with typos.
Theses typos are cracks in my heart, holes in my soul
And even if I were driven by intuition,
I was to low to the ground to reach the pen
My story upgraded, it was being typed, by people that claimed love at first sight
I'm rereading the story, trying to backspace
But he computer is spewing error messages at me
So...All I can do is write.
Still bathed in innocence and now teen angst, I continue my story...
Filling it with my own types and every now and again trying to backspace
I'm only as a good of a writer as my predecessors were
Maybe the should have cared enough to do a better job
They didn't teach me!
No one taught me, loved me , Same Thing!
So now I'm stuck making mistakes, which are just upgraded versions of theirs.
This is all I know, but somehow I will make this a fairytale.