Words Left Behind

Yesterday in a café, I saw her face,

my old English teacher, laughing with grace.

But beneath the surface, I felt the sting,

the memory of critiques, the pain they can bring.

How she tore apart what I thought was a gem,

her words like paper cuts, each one a diadem.

A crumpled essay tossed in a classroom can,

years later still bruises, like a forgotten plan.

I left that place feeling heavy, unfree,

with echoes of doubt, shadows of me.

Her laughter rang hollow, a distant refrain,

I tried to ignore it, but it all felt the same.