Dear Amelia Arrows, 
I created you - I birthed you out of weakness, out of insecurity. 
For you were made beautiful, out of my ugliness. 

Your white skin for my blackness. 
Your manageable curls for my knotted plaits. 
Your vision for my blindness. 
Your hearing for my deafness. 
Your intelligence for my slowness. 
Your abled body for my broken body. 

Sure bit was all pretend, you were only a figure of my imagination. 
Yet like a spirit, you wandered into my mind and slowly infected me. 
You infected me with thoughts of inferiority. 
No matter how high I jump, you raise the standard higher. 

You were supposed to be merely a character in a story. 
The smart girl who falls for her childhood crush. 
Yet you managed to escape the pages into reality because I foolishly gave you the pen. 

I thought you would enjoy the freedom of writing your own story. 
But you have managed to rewrite mine. 

Like a thief in the night, you caome and stole my name, and replaced it with yours. 
How is it that a character wrote the death of the author? 
How is that you managed to steal my identity?

Now I have forgotten myself. 
I have forgotten how He formed me out of clay. 
My imperfections were never supposed to be cracks, but beauty marks. 
For I was made perfect, don't you see? 
I was given a gift yet I squandered it. 
I allowed the ink that was to create beauty within words to permanently stain my skin. 
I allowed my own creation to destroy my esteem,

I gave you a name that was supposed to reflect mine. 
But now your name is my pen name. 
For I was an arrow with the grace to ascend. 
But now your arrows have pierced me. 

Our names - our identities are in a tangled knotted web. 
If I cut one string, which one is yours? 
Which one is mine? 

Why can't I be freed of you? 
Why must my words be trapped behind yours? 
Why when I write, your name takes center stage? 
Why must you erase my name, my imperfections in favour of your perfections? 

I'm sorry Amelia, but the author is tired of playing dead. 
I have let you control my words, but now I have the pen. 
Never again will I let my creations dictate who I am. 
Just as I easily created you out of boredom, I can cross you out of spite. 
Piece by piece I will replace your beauty with my own. 

My black skin for your whiteness. 
My wild curls for your straight hair. 
My shaky eyes for your vision. 
My deafness for your hearing. 
My creativity for your intelligence. 
My disabled body for your abled body. 
For I created you to represent me, not an ideal version of me. 

So long Amelia, for I have put you back in your place. 
No longer will you be able to tell my life story. 
For I have recognized my inherent beauty within the cracks. 

Yours sincerely, 
The Author