Nothing

I spin my webs and draw them in, a gift they cannot see. They wear the cobwebs like nebulous bonnets of silken fluff and air.

My hands are a pyramid and my fingers tap, like a menacing villain without a face. Everyone knows but no one sees. I have a taste for it now.

Ignore the feeling, it’s just the wind that raises hairs upon your neck. For I am soft-spoken and golden crowned. Harmless, vapid thing.

Drink my water squeezed from stones and rest your weary head. Your brilliant mind is just too full and you are too very kind.

I did nothing at all.

In my previous post: What It Isn’t , I discuss constructive criticism and how important it is in many fields, particularly in creative fields. This poem was inspired by the people best known for giving destructive crits. You know the type… The one always taking credit for others good work, the one issuing blame and never taking responsibility…

You are better than that. Relish in it.

Cheers, Amy