Fiction · Life

Autocorrect

Photo by Ann Nekr on Pexels.com

You told me, you like misprints
I squinted and asked,
Did you say you like mistakes?
You nodded, yeah

You turned off autocorrect
because you were fine leaving things unchecked
Tennessee missing a S is still the birthplace of your father
Pennsylvania without a L is still where your life gathered

You’re and your are not the same
One is you, one is something you claim
Some days it’s incredibly hard to tell which is which
So how dare a computer tells you to switch
As if you don’t already know which one needs the twitch

And the i, sometimes you leave them un-capitalized
On days you feel like i
you don’t want to write I
It isn’t something you forget,
it’s a choice

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