My pages are printed on with black ink.
I am stories of life, whether they are true or not.
The eyes of curious creatures explore my reaches.
Some are kind and take care of me,
Making sure I am on my shelf and comfortable.
While others are rough and injure my spine or dog-ear my pages.
I have done nothing to deserve this mistreatment.
I am one’s perfect story, and another’s worst.
Authors bio is coming up shortly. 
Interesting poem. Has a good rhythym and an interesting take on a book.