Pride and Prejudice 1-5

             Pride and Prejudice has a title that adequately fits its content. As the story progresses, it is clear that each of the characters are concerned with status, marriage, and courting. Many focus on appearances, forming quick judgments and basing their feelings off of them. Mrs. Bennet only cares about affluence when it comes to finding husbands for her daughters. She is very superficial in this way--she would rather her daughters be financially stable and high in class than emotionally or romantically content. Much of the conflict in finding partners is the struggle to keep a family's pride and title. Bingley's sisters are very judgmental with Elizabeth, mostly because she receives more attention from Mr. Darcy. The entire storyline is focused on first impressions and maintenance of class, following social expectations and fulfilling gender duties.

          Upon reading Mr. Collins' proposal to Elizabeth, I better understand the tone of it. Throughout his stay, Mr. Collins has shown his overwhelming sense of self-importance and arrogance. He takes the time to perform speeches, and is always unaware of how his surrounding audience get easily annoyed by his words. Since he is inheriting the Bennet property, he seems to show a sense of entitlement to choosing whichever Bennet daughter he finds suitable. In his actual proposal, he never once appeals to Elizabeth personally. He speaks of being a clergyman, wanting to add to his happiness, advice from Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and inheriting Longbourn. He never uses typical courting appeals and he never mentions her happiness. The entire second half of his proposal is solely to do with financial issues and his inheriting the house after Mr. Bennet's death. He believes that by appealing to this dilemma, he will persuade her hand inn marriage. Little does he realize how arrogant and long-winded he sounds.

Poetry Slam Poem 1 (group)

"Dear Cliche High School Bully"

Dear cliche high school bully,
You, the one who redefined the term,
You, who doesn't steal lunch money, but hopes and dreams,
You, who uses logic and cunning instead of fists and wedgies,
You, the painting of innocence, a face without a heart--
You're boring me.
This game you play isn't one I asked to be in,
Much less when it involves trying to make me cry,
Especially when the objective is to break me.
You can't stand that I can stand and smile,
You can't stand how I won't stoop as low as you.
I'm the perfect target, we both know that:
Awkward speech impediments, lack of conventional hobbies,
My childish interests aren't as womanly as your Cosmo and Vogue
And maybe my vocabulary consists of more 'likes' than actual words,
And maybe my Facebook wall isn't cluttered with people I don't know,
And maybe I have no idea what in the world a Twitter is.

But I do know who I am, and I ain't trying to please you.
I'm not sorry your friends abandoned you
When you used and abused them, believing you could subdue them,
Believing you had some kind of power over their will.
Who do you think you are, pulling the trigger of the gun of judgment
When you've got it pointing the wrong way?
I don't know if you've heard, but there's a difference between dignity and pride.
Swallow the latter and up the former, because you can't seem to get over
The delusional idea that you deserve better,
That you deserve more,
That maybe manipulation and backstabbing will make you happier.
I mean, you got what you wanted, right?
All the fame without the glory,
All the praise without the sincerity.
Rid the cloud of denial from your bleary eyes
Because you sure ain't fooling anyone/
I mean Shakespeare summed it up pretty well--
Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell.

And I just wanted to say "thank you."
Thank you for staring,
For shifting your gaze up and down, side to side,
Silently judging and ridiculing,
Taking the time to spot my flaws and give them value.
Thank you--for wasting the effort.
Behind the curl in your lips and the cold in your eyes
I see your criticisms,
Circling around your head and propelling my way,
Armed with weapons of malicious intent--
I smile.
Your grin fades and your eyebrows raise
As your insults scurry and dance hectically,
Falling to the ground,
One by one,
Shattering soundlessly.

You're the reason my defenses are so strong.

Sincerely,

No longer inferior

Poetry Slam Poem 2 (group)

I'm Not Sorry

Why can't you say my name as it was intended
Before your harsh tongue butchered it with English,
Spitting it back at my face,
Disgracing my culture, belittling who I am,
Erasing my identity because I don't matter
So long as you can stomp on the inkling of hope I manage to hold onto

Does my skin scare you?
Does this complexion constitute as an unspoken crime?
Does my skin tone stand as a denotation for intellectual inferiority?
Does the make-up of my pigment demarcate my verbal capabilities?
You act like my coloration is a handicap,
Like I should be ashamed of this sun-kissed hue.

Is my wild mane too animalistic?
Or should I be rocking a perm or a weave?
Because I'd be looking like Chewbacca otherwise,
Because my hair should be monotone, structured, lifeless.
Is it wrong that I am what I represent, not who I should represent?
Or am I not to be what's withing?
Supporting a cause, destroying my voice,
Leaving me colorless on a blueprint backdrop.

Color me with the brilliance of chaos
Because lacking a color is a burden,
Because being achromatic means being a racist,
Because I can inflict pain, not bear it.
I can't have pride or else I'm oppressice
But I'm not my ancestry,
Don't define me based on history
When we're speaking in the present tense.

Oh, the horrors of the cruelty of man.
Oh, the beauty of the aftermath of a storm
I'm not sorry; I won't apologize for being a palette of majesty,
I won't pretend I am worth nothing more than a puddle of diversity.

I am oppression, I am liberty, I am tragedy, I am independence.