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Poem

A labyrinthine of emotions sears through my being as I study my proud pastiche in new perspective, a new eye.
An angry eye, a stirred up eye, a nit-picking not-really-me-in-any-way eye.
I unenthusiastically toss some purple and green glitter onto the dragon’s tail that is disappearing around the bottom left hand corner of my creation.
Satisfied? Actually, I rather liked it better before. 
Prior knowledge tells me if I start scraping, I will be sorry.
In January when I completed this glorious masterpiece, I was soul-satisfied.
Considered it one of my favorite pieces and I have hundreds.
Done recklessly, with overwhelming confidence.
My eyes scan my art studio, landing on things hither and yon, considering 
What I could use to improve this now crude unfinished piece.
What will please another’s eye?
What are they looking for?
More red? Would purple splotches Pollock style do?
What is going to make it sagely sound again?
I glare at the pastiche I used to adore,
The one I was proud of for months and months.
One of my favorite pieces.
Despising myself for
Doubting myself
Because of one
Lone critique of
Someone I have
Never met.
One little review. Bah!
I scrape off the glitter,

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