Dear Mistress of Elusion,

I wish I could breathe poetry.

Fill my lungs to the maximum capacity with metaphor and simile, 

and exhale winding graceful verses, 

inflamed with raw emotion.

I wish I could bleed out all of the word I want to say.

Slash my porcelain skin and let the scarlet speak for itself. 

Show you exactly what is written all over my fractured heart.

I wish every blink of my eyes, 

every small step, 

every gesture, 

would reveal the words I so desperately wish I could articulate.

But this Mistress of Elusion stands in my way.

I know the game you play.

You shamelessly flirt with the tip of my tongue, 

coyly revealing just a little, 

but never enough.

Like the most artful pick-pocketer, 

In just a second lost in contemplation, 

You snatch the words right out of my mouth. 

Mistress of Elusion, 

You are a wretched scarlet woman, 

and you are killing me. 

With every word that goes unsaid, 

with every word that you stifle,

another line forms, 

another bag finds rest under my eyes, 

another stress ulcer forms, 

and yet another hour of sleep is lost.

You toy with my mind, 

Dance back and forth with it, 

teetering between what I should bring to life with my lips, 

and what I should leave buried deep in the abysmal depths of my disheveled mind. 

You think it is a game, 

And to you it is 

You are reckless. 

You are filthy.

You are selfish.

I despise you with every fiber of my being.

The heavy words you hold captive have such potential.

They could soften heartache and silence shudders of emotion.

They could shed light on so many questions I just couldn't find the words to answer. 

They could change everything. 

Or maybe nothing at all…

Because of you I'll never know. 

If I could meet you face to face, 

I'd tell you just how much I hate you.

I'd tell you of all the distress you've inflicted on me and the ones I love,

How you've brought so many beautiful things to ruin, 

I'd show you faces of all of the people you've hurt.

And tell you of the countless tears you've provoked. 

I'm sitting here typing furiously, 

flushed with rage and pure unadulterated hatred of all the pain you've inflicted. 

But as I read over this fragmented letter, 

I've become wrought with the realization that if I was to meet the Mistress of Elusion face to face, 

I'd be looking in a mirror. 

It's me who has broken hearts and brought ruin to lives.

It's me who has stifled potential. 

It's me who has stood in my own way.

I hope one day the countless people I've hurt will find some place in their hearts to forgive me.

Know there is nothing I wouldn't do to remedy the ruin. 

I am so deeply sorry. 

With all my love, Meg