Critic in the Mirror – Osharlequin

I heard once,
Upon the grapevine,
Of a doubter without peer,
An acid-blooded critic,
An aristarch of the literary arts,

Incessant in his critique,
Cutting into my mind,
A spiteful tongue,
Critical to the extreme,
Words that fray the psyche,

The worst kind of detractor,
He doesn’t want me to improve,
Just to stop trying,
To stop striving,
And return to the void of obscurity,

Eventually I come face to face,
With the churl,
This cruel critic,
And his list of my flaws,
An acerbic and biting index,

I see only me,
In the cracked mirror.

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Published by grumpygorman

I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...

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