Mar 08

But, It's My Story

Stop telling my stories for me.
You don't know what I've been through,
And you certainly don't know what I'm going through now.
Everyone has a different book their writing in their lives,
And you don't have the right to rip out the pages,
And sell mine individually.
I'm honestly sick and tired of it,
And I'm running out of ink to rewrite the story,
That you unrightfully plagiarized and rewrote.
I don't know what made you choose mine;
You don't even like reading.
It's not like I go around,
Singing your songs out of key and untuned.
So, please, just stop,
Before my tears bleed through the words that are left,
And the stained paper that's leaving me with paper cuts,
Leaves me with other cuts, just a little lower than my fingers.