It was a short poem about the color red and what it means to people. I turned it in two days before the deadline. I was confident that I would win or even finish in the top three. I wasn't worried about the other competition. I didn't even put effort into the second poem. I sat down at the school computer, typed a few short rhyming words, and handed it in. The day came when Mr. Reed announced the results. Everyone was so eager to find out if their poem had been published in the book on creative communication or if they had won the Barnes and Noble contest. He announced the winners of the Barnes and Noble contest first. “Sidney Allen,” he shouted, “certificate of participation.” It was at this moment that I gave up on poetry. That's when I realized that the amazing poetry I thought I was writing was actually rubbish. I walked over to Mr. Reed's desk to pick up the piece of paper that had shattered my dreams. He simply smiled at me as he continued to announce the real winners. I rested my head on the desk, not even wanting to hear the winners of the other poetry competition. There was no doubt in my mind that my name would not be called. Suddenly, my friend tapped me on the shoulder and yelled, "Sidney, Sidney, he called you!" I was baffled, how could a poem I wrote in less than 10 minutes have