Hey there. I hear you don’t like my story. You won’t let me call it a story because it’s not printed (but it’s a story). I have written a poem for you. Here goes:
You printed your story in English class.
You printed your story in essays.
They printed your story on your diploma.
You printed your story to be paid.
I know that you love writing, but guess what? I do too.
There is more than just one story; that is why we both make two.
My story isn’t printed, because I just scribbled it down.
I have 37 seven notebooks,
And you still look at me and frown.
I haven’t had the training,
And you clearly don’t have the time,
To read a stupid story,
That never tried to rhyme.
It never tried to curtsy,
It never wanted romance,
It never wanted action,
Not the kind that is planned.
It never wanted jargon,
It didn’t want to know,
It never made much sense to me,
Because you told me so.
I really like a good story,
I hardly have a clue,
What makes a story a story,
And not just one like you.
I don’t care what you tell me,
I forgot it yesterday.
I’m not a little child anymore,
Despite what you would say.
A story is for telling,
A story doesn’t die,
A story doesn’t write itself,
On printed pages without a why.
A story is a dance,
A story is a poem,
A story is a work of art,
That is art itself alone.
I don’t need your silly story,
I can’t bear to not tell mine,
You need to stop telling me a story,
Is told by your design,
Because your stories aren’t very good,
At least not the ones I’ve read,
So with a why and a WordPress,
I’ll tell my own story instead.