Wherein Mrs. Carter Aspires to be a Poet

I've been scarce, lately. Mostly because it's nearly semester's end, but also because I've been trying to build up a portfolio. See, I magically weaseled my way into the Advanced Creative Writing class in order to have an excuse to set aside time to work on writing. I become slightly frustrated because I crave feedback. I want feedback. Tear it apart. Tell me what you like. Tell me what you loathe. I'm open to all ideas, though I won't necessarily change something if I feel it works.
I'm starting to suspect not all of my peers take this so seriously. There's one girl, though, who's been so kind as to send me her entire hundred-thousand word story. There's another who's got a sweet screenplay along the lines of Tarantino. The only guy in class has a story with a very strong asshole character. There are at least seven more people in class, though. Oh well. A close friend keeps telling me that it's not my grade on the line, and not to worry so much about them. I can't help but feel my written comments on their transcripts are unwelcome. I am sometimes riddled with insecurity.
And then, days like today. I know that I hogged all the time, and that I shouldn't have... I'll probably not submit anything else for class workshop, to give other people a chance and what not. But I really needed to talk out some of the things, especially those things about which I wasn't so sure.
Then, Dr. Beggs gave me my sixteen poems back, with minimal commentary, but on the very last page he wrote:

I know this drives you crazy, but I have nothing to tear apart here. This is an engaging and enjoyable collection. At some point, however, if you wish to grow as a poet, you should master a variety of forms.