Once Upon a Time in Poetry Class...

I've been sitting here trying to think of something positive to write about, anything at all, and all I can think of is my brief bit of "fame" during my poetry class. We were doing a workshop, which is essentially when everyone writes a piece of poetry and we discuss it together. I remember looking up from my scrambled notes at the mention of my poem's title, followed by my name. Of course, I instantly assumed tomato-face position and remained silent as my poem was embarrassingly read aloud. It was what I've been waiting for and dreading at the same time- sharing my own written work in front of complete strangers. Up until then I had only shown my written works to the very tiny group of people I shared my blog with and a few family members. But anyway, as soon as my poem was finished being read- I sat idly by as it was thrashed to pieces...because they loved it. There's an elderly lady in my class, she was the first to speak, and for the life of me, I can't remember what she said because it was a long pause-less string of words coming out of her mouth. Something about pronouns, I think. The teacher cut in and said that this was her way of expressing how much she really loved the poem, and that her passionate criticism was a good thing (he's had her in another one of his classes). It seemed like we discussed my poem for hours, it was so surreal- there was actual debating going on about it...like how one person liked how vague it sounded while someone else didn't. And then class ended and a girl whom had never spoken a word to me before, came up to me and said my poem was the best out of everyone's. It was quite shocking, I was so sure that it wasn't my best work. I don't know if I've ever felt that good about myself before.