She looked down at the paper in her hand,

Colored red with corrections,

Fifth one this week.

The shame rushes to her face,

As a boiling river,

She always had red.

The laughter came in waves,

“You did not know that”

They always mocked.

It rolled over her,

Just like an ocean,

The teacher was to blame.

“Maybe next time” her friend,

“You should know this” the teacher.

She slumped down,

Will I ever get a clear paper?

Never.

It’s not my fault I don’t know this.

Yes it is.

You never taught me.