I feel dirty when you ask me to critique your work
your self expression
making stains on the page
all for you
all for show
not for creation.
I protect myself, read with rubber gloves on
forgetting you get a kick out of that.
You insist on performing for me
and the sour taste in my ears
and your scent lingers long after you’ve gone
and it is quite some time before
I can put pen to page, myself.
© Aisling Doherty