Copy of a Copy

My life is not as original

as I thought

The plans I kept folded in my chest

Were replicas at best

The paths I was so proud of paving

Were already laid out for me

The love of my life

Cut out my heart with a paring knife

Just as the prophecy foretold.

And I had thought myself so careful,

Tiptoeing in the peripherals of life.

But even fate uses the margins to write.