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.