To Fate,

I don't believe in you.

I don't believe in the way they say

you tinker with the stars 

like they were lightbulbs,

and pull the strings of people

crying out for purpose. 

What immense power you have,

bending all the world to your will,

writing epitaphs for passion and drive. 

You compose whole destinies 

like they were grade school songs,

but, mind, not mine.

My triumph will be of my own accord,

and I will write the first chords of my own melody,

the first words of my manuscript, 

take the first step down a tract less taken 

and mistaken for deviance. 

I will write my own story,

and fate? 

I've never heard of it.