Ms. C, my favorite thing about writing
Is taking time to really decode it,
But in your class I’m frequently fighting
When you imply that all our thoughts are shit.
You lecture us, but last year Ms. K taught.
She listened to our varied thoughts and smiled;
You tell us that we’re wrong more oft than not
And look at me like I am just a child.
However, I suppose that I do learn.
The sonnet, for example, you taught me.
Now, hearing people read to lines I spurn,
And clarity I easily can see.
It sort of sickens me to tell you so,
But something in your class has helped me grow.