Gardening by ahood11

Table of Contents Acknowledgements………………………………….3 Introduction……………………………………………4 Formal Essays…………………………………………..6 “The Tales That Created Me”..........................................................7 “Young Adult Literature Should Not Be Taught In High School Classrooms”.....................................................................................12 “Gender Roles And Feminism In The Hunger Games”.................20

Poetry……………………………………………………27 “Neverland”.....................................................................................28 “Right Person, Wrong Time”.........................................................29 “Annis”.............................................................................................30 “Addicted”.......................................................................................31 “Mother’s Daughter, Daddy’s Girl”...............................................32 “Ode to the Divine”........................................................................34

Creative Nonfiction……………………………….35 “I am a Smiling Ghost”...................................................................36 “Margaret Atwood”........................................................................40

Acknowledgements There is no possible way for me to make this dedication short, due to the amount of people that have gotten me to where I am today. I am immensely lucky for the professors and family that have taught me and encouraged me beyond words. Thank you, Dr. Latchaw, for showing me true compassion and encouragement. Your intelligence and passion for teaching is inspiring, and your impact on my life is immeasurable. Thank you, Dr. Raney, for being the first person to unveil my passion for writing. Your dedication to your students is a gift, and I am fortunate to have learned from you. Thank you, Professor McCall, for helping and supporting me since the very beginning. Not only did you restore my love for poetry through teaching, but you also showed me care as my advisor, pushing me to do what I love. Finally, thank you to my parents. Though I spent the past four years as an English major learning how to write properly, there are simply no words to illustrate your impact on me and my journey. I wouldn’t be standing here without you.

Introduction Growing up, I felt different from everyone else. I roamed the school hallways alone, never had after-school plans, or had the same dreams as my peers. I listened to the girls in my class vivaciously discussing their future as doctors, nurses, teachers, ready to follow in their parent’s footsteps. They raved about their high grades in science class, math class, while my mind blurred when trying to remember how many bones are in the body or solve an equation. Many bus rides home were spent yearning to be like those girls—smart and passionate about their future. When I got home, I would bury myself under my pink blanket, light up my little world with my book light, and write every feeling down in my journal. I always felt like my peers were free in the fields, I was trapped in the vines. Trapped. Over the years, my journal turned into two, then three, then seven—the vines wrapping tightly around me. Though I continued to struggle with the subjects that my peers excelled in, my talents were revealed through language—vocabulary, reading, English—my colossal amount of ink-filled pages being blatant proof. Soon, my cluttered rants turned into disarrayed poems. I enjoyed the feeling of transforming my scattered thoughts into artistic interpretations—formulating rhymes, indulging in free verse, learning how to paint pictures with words. Diving into this form of writing made the consuming vines loosen their grip slightly. 4

My passion for writing blossomed when beginning my college career. Editing my essays, conjuring up creative stories, learning how to be more transparent on paper, all became my focus. My confidence wavered, the jumbled journals floating into my mind, transforming back into poisonous thoughts. While my writing and passion progressed, I simultaneously relearned how to express my emotions: instead of waiting for the vines to loosen their grip, I began to slice through them myself. Though my passion is different from my peers, I have finally begun my journey to join them in the fields, completely free. Each piece I write, every word on every page, each piece in this collection, is a flower bloomed, a vine cut. Through my work in the past four years, I learned the process of gardening—of writing.

Formal Essays Growing up, though I got good grades in high school and my love of writing flourished through those years, one skill that I never learned was the ability to have courage in my views, research, and execution. Transitioning into college caused my writing to struggle. As a freshman during the pandemic, the isolation felt like time was standing still—I was not taking any steps backwards, but I was not taking any forward, either. I felt stuck socially, emotionally, academically, and it only took me one semester to realize how wrong I was. My professors welcomed me with open arms, teaching me more than I could ever hope for. My freshman year confirmed that I was in the right major, and my sophomore year is when I grew more than I could ever fathom. I learned how to be bold in my academic writing, research properly, and find joy in my essays, ultimately enjoying the process of writing them. This collection of papers highlights my progress as an academic writer, showing not only my growth, but also the professors who guided me over the past four years.

The Tales that Created Me In Walt Disney’s The Little Mermaid, Scuttle explains to Princess Ariel how humans use forks. He squawks, “It's a dinglehopper. Humans use these little babies to straighten their hair out” (Clements). As a toddler with tangled dark hair, I loosened my knots with a fork because of Scuttle’s words. No matter what Disney movie I watched, I found ways to insert myself into the story. If I ate an apple, I fell into a deep slumber that only my Prince Charming could wake me from, which in my case was my dog, Brownie. My dress shoes for Sunday school morphed into delicate glass slippers. I would leave one behind, hoping a prince would return it to me. Every lamp I saw had to be rubbed in hopes of a genie being able to grant my wishes. Walt Disney kickstarted my adoration for stories and the ideal of never truly growing up. He created a company that told tales about girls who had dreams and drive. Stories transformed me into a forceful queen, a mighty warrior, a damsel in distress. I had the privilege of being raised on books that encompass true magic: showing people that females can do anything. As I grew in age, the stories I read continued to center around the lives of girls. I read the Junie B. Jones books by Barbara Park because her life in kindergarten was much more exciting than my own. In elementary school, I devoured the Dork Diaries series by Rachel Renée Russell, which portrayed the “reality” of a pre-teen girl and her struggles. (I later was shocked to learn that the depiction was far from accurate.) The Nancy Drew books filled my adolescent heart with suspense and respect for the girl who investigated dusty attics and creepy neighbors. The feminist in me desired never to touch a book with a male protagonist. I was completely satisfied in my limited reading career, until I reached intermediate school. Around the age of nine, I began to succumb to thoughts and longings that every pre-teen has: the desire for friends, the search for approval, and the ability to fit in with others in every way possible consumed me daily. I complained to my parents about how my clothes differed from my peers, my glasses were not the popular color, my school supplies were not on par, and my hair was not straight like the other girls. I walked into class one morning, my flat-ironed hair down to my hips, and I spotted 7

the book series everyone seemed to be reading: Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. After I finished my science test, I hurried to the library to check out Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. I plopped back into my desk chair and began reading. Looking back, this is the one time I am glad that I attempted to fit in. My father and older sister had begun the series a few months prior, and I quickly jumped ahead and completed the books before them. I believe J.K. Rowling changed many lives with her creation of Hogwarts and the characters within. Of course, Hermione’s ambition and intelligence inspired my feminist side, but I found pieces of myself in all of the characters: Harry’s compassion, Ron’s humor, Draco’s cunning, and Dumbledore’s love. A character that drew me in intensely was Professor Snape. I had never seen anything like him before. He was one of the first antiheroes I had ever encountered, and I desired to find more characters like him. I finally reached middle school, which was a hard time for me. I transitioned to homeschooling and attended a cooperative, where cliques were still relevant and unwavering and schoolwork became more challenging. Assigned readings piled up, which triggered a new distaste for books. Though I had all of these wonderful literary experiences, my pessimistic attitude began clouding my view of all books. Throughout the next three years of life, I read very little for enjoyment. I stumbled upon The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins in the middle of those three years, and though it is currently one of my favorite series, it did not push me to read more. Because of the reading I was required to do, I lacked the imagination, power, and control I felt when I read the books I wanted; I no longer saw myself in the characters I was introduced to. I was bitter about school, friends, and myself, which pushed me away from the thing I cared for most: stories. When high school rolled around, I was abnormally down on myself as compared to the average teenager. I went through terrible experiences, drama overshadowed my life, and I was too overwhelmed and depressed to get out from under the covers. Sadly, I was bedridden for weeks and lacked the ability to complete any day-to-day activities. During that time, my mother bought me a gift to cheer me up and occupy myself while I was home. She pulled out a book and placed it on the dresser across the room and told me I could examine it whenever I felt ready. It was the first time I got out of bed that day. The cover had a dark purple background with a ruby red shoe in the center. The most noticeable attribute was the leg that was connected to the shoe: it was not only skin, but also robotic parts that hid in the calf. The book my mother bought me was Cinder by Marissa Meyer, which is the first in the The Lunar Chronicles series. The Lunar Chronicles consists of four books that retell old fairy tales in a futuristic manner. Cinder is the reimagining of Cinderella, who in this version, is an android. I had never read anything like it before, so I began reading and could not peel my eyes away from the pages. Everybody underestimated Cinder, but she progressively shifted into a mighty individual; an independent that I 8

could see myself in once more. I soon reached the second book, Scarlet, which retells the story of Little Red Riding Hood. Cress is next, showcasing Rapunzel in a whole new way. The last in the series, Winter combines them all while introducing Snow White to the plot. I could not put the series down. These books became my reason for getting out of bed. They became the fuel I needed to start fresh and the inspiration to begin reading once more. Marissa Meyer became my modernized Walt Disney. She presented female powerhouses that I saw myself in, and returned to me a curiosity to explore new worlds through reading. Throughout high school, despite the continuous assigned books, I did not cease to pursue stories that added to my imagination. Sophomore year, my best friend gave me a book recommendation titled Throne of Glass by Sara J. Maas. She explained that the series consists of five large main books with a couple of supplements. I was scared to commit. It took me until junior year to pick up the first book. Little did I know that I held my favorite series of all time in my hands. The story is about Celaena Sardothien, a notorious killer that competes in a competition to become the king's royal assassin. Though her character appears evil, she transforms into an inspirational hero who has humility, empathy, confidence, and drive. Celaena taught me to grant sympathy to others and always forgive yourself for your mistakes. Though she held the weight of the world on her shoulders, she simultaneously cared for her peers. She allowed herself to be without shame; never burying her emotions, but facing them head-on. I related to Celeana because I felt most everything she felt. She was my version of a realistic Disney princess: full of flaws and inspiring as ever. With the help of Sara J. Maas’ writing, I came to the conclusion that fantasy is my favorite genre of literature. My most current reading inspiration is Rupi Kaur. I discovered my love of poetry through one of her collections titled The Sun and Her Flowers. The feminism I previously exposed myself to was fiction, and reading Kaur’s poetry was the first time I truly understood the hard reality of women in our current society and the real meaning of feminism. I exposed myself to genuine women who inspired me the way my favorite characters had. Poetry allowed me to focus and dissect my own emotions. Reading her relatable content filled me with a sense of deeper understanding of myself and others. I knew myself better, which allowed me to consciously observe and analyze people and how they are feeling. Because of poetry, I was gifted the ability to extend empathy to others, but most importantly myself. Rupi Kaur paved the way for me to start writing my own poetry. I began focusing on filling my journals with poems that may one day help others in the manner I was helped. My journey with literature is simultaneously the story of my life. Because of my experiences, I acquired an imagination that was founded on other people’s ideas and beliefs. From Walt Disney to Rupi Kaur, each has taught me the importance of being a strong woman and making a difference. To this day, I see myself in Princess Ariel, excited to explore new places. Just like Hermione, I hold 9

education and friendship highly and tightly. I make mistakes like Celaena and pick myself up, piece by piece. Cinder rescued me; pushed me from my dark days and propelled me forward. Rupi Kaur taught me that I am my own: I am real. I have become a self-assured, imaginative woman with the value and power to do whatever I set my mind to.

Works Cited Clements, Ron, and John Musker. The Little Mermaid. Buena Vista Pictures, 1989.

Young Adult Literature Should Not Be Taught In High School Classrooms It was early Monday morning my senior year of high school. The sun finally rose, providing a sliver of warmth to the winter air. I practically ran out the door because I was nearly late for my dual enrollment English class. I made it right before he closed the door, threw down my bulky backpack, and prepared myself for the long class. My professor assigned us to choose a classic work of literature to dissect and write a solid essay about. My best friend chose her favorite, Alice’s Adventures Wonderland, and to no surprise, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Catcher in the Rye, and many other classics were taken—realizing my favorites were snatched from me, I was officially hopeless. An idea came to mind, one I did not expect my professor to reciprocate. Approaching my professor, anxiety sinking in my stomach, I asked if I could write about The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. To my surprise, he said yes. After the shock settled in my body from his eager and immediate “yes,” I got to work on writing about the gender roles in the first Hunger Games book. Because I was able to write about one of my favorite novels of all 12

time, I enjoyed every second spent on the assignment, and achieved the grade I hoped for. Young Adult Literature rarely makes an appearance in academic courses, let alone a high school classroom. The reputation of Young Adult Literature has prevented many from reading the genre. For example, writer and critic Anthony Holden gave quite the negative review for one of the most influential Young Adult series in this generation: Harry Potter. He says, “As a workout for the brain, reading (or being read) Harry Potter is an activity marginally less testing than watching Neighbors. And that, at least, is vaguely about real life. These are one-dimensional children's books, Disney cartoons written in words, no more.” He goes on to say, We are a country with dramatically declining standards of literacy, increasingly dragged down to the lowest common denominator by the purveyors of all forms of mindless mass entertainment. The success of the Potter books is just another dispiriting proof of the Murdoch-led dumbing down of all our lives, or what Hensher called 'the infantilization of adult culture'. Sadly, many official scholars and critics voice similar opinions toward the entirety of the Young Adult Genre. Young Adult books are constantly belittled and brutally separated from the literary canon list. From ninth grade to twelfth, the American classroom embraces the literary canon: To Kill A Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby, Animal Farm, 1984, just to name a few. These classics exemplify valuable lessons in English class—racism, power, justice, feminism, good versus evil. Why are these novels considered honorable and influential pieces of literature, while Young Adult Literature is viewed as cheap entertainment? The Young Adult genre discusses themes that are presented in classic novels, along with insight on modern issues, yet the problematic

stereotype surrounding Young Adult Literature prohibits its possible positive use in the high school classroom. In order to understand the benefits of implementing Young Adult Literature in the high school classroom, the societal definition of ‘literature’ must be defined: According to Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary, the term ‘literature’ means, “writings in prose or verse especially: writings having excellence of form or expression and expressing ideas of permanent or universal interest”. As a whole, literature covers numerous genres: fiction, biography, essay, and young adult. The drawback that is attached to Young Adult Literature is its aggressive and quite brutal stereotypes that are most apparent and believed in society. Cheesy plotlines and poorly written love triangles bury the Young Adult Literature in false inadequacy. The rightful definition of Young Adult Literature is exactly that: literature aimed at young adults. The audience a book caters to has nothing to do with the quality of themes discussed on the pages. High school criteria already highlight how themes were written about in the past, but the classroom currently does not use enough variety of works to determine how the thematic issues moved through time. I am in no way stating classic books should cease to exist in the classroom, but I am saying that Young Adult Literature should go hand-in-hand with them to see the progress of specific topics over the years. For example, Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women entertains the topic of gender roles and bends the stereotype surrounding men and women. Another book that shockingly has the same effect is The Hunger Games. Katniss, a powerhouse of a protagonist, shifted the Young Adult world and was one of the first to introduce a female character as a warrior while simultaneously exhibiting feminine characteristics. These two books have the potential to be

used simultaneously to show the progression of gender roles and how they are discussed and highlighted throughout time. Continuing the discussion of The Hunger Games, it is known by many for its typical love triangle, but the trilogy discusses poverty, good versus evil, the toxicity of overwhelming power, and the damage that violence produces. Neal Shusterman’s Scythe, a lesser known dystopian series is about good versus evil, humanity, and the harsh topic of death. Shusterman’s writing impeccably intensifies the series and forces these significant themes to be mourned and pondered. Summarizing the purpose of the series, Shusterman writes, “My greatest wish for humanity is not for peace or comfort or joy. It is that we all still die a little inside every time we witness the death of another. For only the pain of empathy will keep us human. There’s no version of God that can help us if we ever lose that” (388). Shusterman’s writing has a bountiful amount of critical themes and language that can be discussed with equal interest and intent as classics such as The Lord of the Flies. Interestingly enough, Lord of the Flies inspired both of these Young Adult masterpieces with its disturbing combination of war and children. This proves that there is a difference in how themes in these books have progressed—children are still forced into wicked circumstances similar to The Lord of the Flies, but The Hunger Games and Scythe intertwine women protagonist's that are a main influence in the storytelling—this has the potential to introduce even more major themes to divulge into. Novels went from presenting subtle and shocking feminist ideals to having female queens, warriors, and revolters that obtain self-dependent and fierce characteristics. Another benefit of implementing Young Adult Literature in the high school classroom includes the discussion of topics that were not mainstream in the past. Recent Young Adult works are adamant in the inclusion of homosexual characters, placing them in main,

influential roles that encourage inclusion for the LGBTQ+ community. William P. Banks wrote a powerful essay titled “Literacy, Sexuality, and the Value(s) of Queer Young Adult Literatures.” In his work, he explains the significance of incorporating new LGBTQ+ Young Adult Literature into the classroom, stating, “From 1980 to 1995, most of the LGBT characters in Young Adult fiction were secondary, often dead or killed off during the narrative, or run out of town and separated from community and/or family.” Banks goes on to say, “More recently, LGBT characters get to live, and because these characters are often the protagonists of the stories, readers are challenged to understand them as fuller human beings with thoughts, desires, and interests that may mirror their own and that are not necessarily silenced by novel's end” (35). A part of everyone’s high school experience is the yearn to fit in, or rather to feel included. Incorporating more books with inclusive themes and characters helps students' confidence and teaches others to normalize students who are different from them. Accepting Young Adult books into the literary canon has the potential to inspire and engage a larger sum of high school students. Students learn in a multitude of ways, and many do not process through reading—many simply dread reading the classics. A journal article titled “Promoting Young Adult Literature: The Other "Real" Literature” clearly states: “Young adult literature can be a vehicle that allows teachers to present the same literary elements found in the classics while engaging adolescent students in stimulating classroom discussions and assignments.” The author continues their point, explaining, “Unlike classic literature, it can foster a desire to read. Because it: a) employs the literary elements of the classics, b) engages adolescent students in analyzing literature along with themselves and their

principles, and c) promotes and encourages lifelong reading habits” (66). Involving modern stories is a simple solution to giving kids a better opportunity of enjoying the curriculum they are forced to learn. In “Connecting the Canon to Current Young Adult Literature”, the writers argue, “...teaching YAL [Young Adult Literature] emphasizes the importance of student voices in constructing meaning and provides space for students to become active learners rather than passive receivers of information” (32). Allowing a larger selection of modern novels into the classroom gives more students the ability to process information about the generation they are experiencing, while also giving more teens the opportunity to read a book that piques their interest. Being able to introduce Young Adult Literature into the high school classroom has more positive impacts than negative. Bringing modern novels that are directed at teenagers into the academic world allows deeper connection to the themes already pressed into the curriculum. Adding Young Adult Literature into the literary canon gives readers the ability to see how significant topics have progressed in discussion and interpretation over the years, along introducing relevant themes that are not as prominent in the past. This includes the topics of feminism and gender roles, good versus evil, and LGBTQ+ rights. Being able to accept the Young Adult genre as legitimate literature gives teens in school the opportunity to relate and enjoy the text they are assigned to read. Young Adult Literature should not simply be allowed in the high school classroom. It should be welcomed.

Further Reading To learn more about involving Young Adult Literature in the high school classroom, check out these handpicked articles and essays: To further understand the use of Young Adult Literature for important themes in the classroom, please read “The Purpose of Teaching Young Adult Literature in Secondary Education: Focus on Poverty, Gender and Sexuality” by Darshana Chakrabarty. This essay shows how Young Adult novels discuss different issues such as Gender roles, discovering and accepting sexuality, and economic issues. To further understand how to incorporate specific Young Adult books into the classroom, please read “Carpe Librum: Seize the (YA) Book: Literary Slipstream: Using Contemporary YA Fiction to Connect Students with the Canon” written by Pauline Skowron Schmidt. Schmidt gives excellent advice on how to use popular Young Adult series to discuss significant themes in school. This also allows for numerous kinds of Young Adult books to be uncovered: romance, dystopian, fantasy, et cetera. To further understand different ways teachers can use Young Adult Literature in the classroom, please read “Teaching Young Adult Literature: Making Magic with YAL” by Mike Roberts and Jeannette Haskins. This essay gives an outstanding amount of Young Adult books to bring into the classroom, how to intrigue students, and the effect reading something relevant to oneself has on teenagers in school. Keywords Classroom, Incorporate, Stereotypes, Teens, Young Adult Literature .

Works Cited Banks, William P. “Literacy, Sexuality, and the Value(s) of Queer Young Adult Literatures.” The English Journal, vol. 98, no. 4, National Council of Teachers of English, 2009, pp. 33–36, http://www.jstor.org/stable/40503258. Holden, Anthony. “Why Harry Potter Doesn't Cast a Spell over Me.” The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, 25 June 2000, https://www.theguardian.com/books/2000/jun/25/booksforchildrenandteenagers.guardian childrensfictionprize2000. Rybakova, Katie, and Rikki Roccant. “Connecting The Canon To Young Adult Literature.” American Secondary Education, 2016. “Literature.” Merriam-Webster.com Dictionary, Merriam-Webster, https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/literature. Accessed 28 Nov. 2021. Santoli, Susan P., and Mary Elaine Wagner. “Promoting Young Adult Literature: The Other ‘Real’ Literature.” American Secondary Education, vol. 33, no. 1, Dwight Schar College of Education, Ashland University, 2004, pp. 65–75, http://www.jstor.org/stable/41064624. Shusterman, Neal. Scythe. Simon & Schuster BFYR, an Imprint of Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing Division, 2016.

Gender Roles and Feminism In The Hunger Games In 2008, a phenomenon that captured the world took form in a book titled The Hunger Games. Though the trilogy stands as a young adult collection, the themes presented in the series are such that should be attended to: the thematic elements presented carry the story from oppression to hope. One said theme is the intense feminism primarily portrayed through the protagonist, Katniss Everdeen—strong, independent, and fiercely caring describes a mere handful of her characteristics. Since she is the main savior-like character, this also presents the gender roles uncovered within the series. Peeta, her main love interest, is the soft, caretaking, and emotional character that would primarily be portrayed as a woman in the media. The switch of stereotypical gender roles, feminist ideals, and social justice directed toward women pushed The Hunger Games series from a young adult tribute to a stunning piece of literature that presents significant social topics found within current culture. The complete switch of gender roles in Katniss and Peeta’s relationship is fascinating due to the fact that though women powerhouses are slowly becoming more prominent in media, emotional and caretaking men are scarcely portrayed . 20

Katniss’ difficulty tapping into her ‘female, empathizing brain’ is perhaps especially interesting in that Peeta’s strategy relies heavily on his. Peeta makes his romantic feelings for Katniss this angle for the interview, a move that ameliorates Katniss’ own difficulty making herself likable in front of the cameras. (Bray 8) While Katniss primarily uses her strength to her advantage throughout the series, Peeta strategically uses the emotional approach. In the interview before the 74th Hunger Games in the first novel, Peeta admits to having feelings for Katniss to gain emotional support and bids while being in the arena. In doing so, he aids Katniss as well: From the moment that Peeta articulates his feelings for her during his interview with Caesar, Katniss and the audience become hyper aware of her status as ‘girl’. The revelation of Peeta’s crush does far more to identify Katniss’s gender than ever the beautiful dresses that Cinna designs, as much as Haymitch claims that Peeta’s declaration makes Katniss appear ‘desirable.’ (Mitchell 135) While Peeta hones into his sensitive side, and Katniss her masculine side, both help each other and ultimately win the games together—though Katniss surely represents mighty feminist ideals, she had major assistance along her entire journey. Men portrayed in the media are mainly seen as society’s definition of physically and emotionally masculine: strong and utterly emotionless, which is misconstrued as in control of their emotions. However, Peeta defies the normalities by being in tune with his feelings and expressing them openly. Peeta kickstarts their entire public romance, automatically becoming the one wrapped into it more than her. “This again subverts the expectations of each gender, as you would assume the female character would be the one swept up by their feelings towards the

other, yet it is completely switched as Peeta is the one more concerned about their relationship than survival” (Hodgkinson 1). The switched gender roles between Katniss and Peeta call out the stereotypical ideas of gender in society and prove that these roles can be flipped successfully. The savior complex of Katniss is not only a swap of gender roles, but also a quality of feminism in The Hunger Games series. By and large, God-like characters are men, and though there is never any mention of religion within the novels, Katniss represents a God-like hope for the people of Panem. A prime example occurs at the beginning of the first book when Katniss volunteers to attend the Games in place of her sister: “I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute” (Collins 22 B). This action is one of a true protagonist and full of sacrifice for others. A savior complex like this one symbolizes hope, and the people of Panem look at Katniss with hope for a better future throughout the rest of the series. Not only is Katniss a portrayal of hope, but she also proves to be a strong feminist character that shows power throughout the series. The origin of her name provides insight on her characteristics—Katniss is the name of a plant that does not have a separate sex, according to Jennifer Mitchell in “Of Queer Necessity: Panem’s Hunger Games As Gender Games.” Furthermore, she states, “Indeed, the hermaphroditic nature of the plant itself speaks directly to the configuration of Katniss as a character who blurs, erases, transcends, and challenges traditional representation of gender in the series” (133). District Twelve, where Katniss lives, is the most poverty-stricken district in all of Panem, and there is no way to climb the socioeconomic pole, forcing everyone in Twelve to be stuck in the same economic status unless you win the Games. Because of this, Katniss provides the food and income for her mother and younger sister. Instead of being stereotypically feminine in her familial role, she is a political

caretaker: “...her traditionally feminine concern for the wellbeing of her loved ones is rendered masculine by the need to strategize their care” (Bray 6). She is strategic rather than emotional, which is why Katniss remains an influential protagonist because she uses both her masculine and feminine traits to her advantage. Her hunting skills not only provide food for her family, but they also aid her win in the Games. As for her feminine side, in the 74th Hunger Games, she takes care of Peeta when he is injured, which makes her a caretaker in a completely different manner. Though Katniss taps into her feminine side by transforming into a glamorized, dressed up version of herself in the interviews before the Games, Katniss simultaneously dismantles the standard idea of the traditional beauty of women. She uses physical attractiveness to her advantage, but she reveals that beauty is merely a societal standard that has no ultimate significance. In the first novel, Katniss states, “I am not pretty. I am not beautiful. I am as radiant as the sun” (Collins 121 B). Katniss’s beauty is shown through her care, strength, and her representation of hope throughout the series’ entirety. Through the character of Katniss, female injustices in society are challenged and disrupted in The Hunger Games trilogy. Since birth, women are taught to be utterly silent—their opinions are inadequate and their silence is favored. This idea of tranquility is seen when Katniss says, “When I was younger, I scared my mother to death, the things I would blurt out about District 12, about the people who rule our country, Panem, from the far-off city called the Capitol. Eventually, I understood this would only lead us to more trouble. So I learned to hold my tongue and to turn my features into an indifferent mask so that no one could ever read my thoughts (Collins 6 B). Katniss growing up as a silent and seemingly insignificant girl, and blossoming into an outspoken feminist powerhouse contradicts the societal normalities that are

placed upon women from a young age. Another significant moment in the series that points to injustice facing women is the carelessness of their bodies within society. For seventy-four years straight, the Capitol found the Games as mere entertainment no matter who was killed within it—males, females, and children were all part of the games. But, when Peeta implemented a strategic and false announcement into his interview in Catching Fire, all of that changed: “‘I’m not glad,’ says Peeta. ‘I wish we had waited until the whole thing was done officially.’ This takes Caesar aback. ‘Surely even a brief time is better than no time?’ ‘Maybe I’d think that, too, Caesar,’ says Peeta bitterly, ‘if it weren’t for the baby’” (Collins 256 A). Peeta fibs about Katniss being pregnant to evoke emotion and controversy surrounding the games, which is exactly what he did: “As the bomb explodes, it sends accusations of injustice and barbarism and cruelty flying out in every direction. Even the most Capitol-loving Games-hungry, bloodthirsty person out there can’t ignore, at least for a moment, how horrific the whole thing is” (Collins 256 A). One interesting aspect about this situation is that children were previously killed within the games and no one found this abnormal. For example, twelve-year-old Rue is brutally murdered in the first novel, but no one in the Capitol found this tragic. Yet, when a woman that is with child is set to play in the Games, the Capitol population wants the games to be called off—an unborn fetus inside Katniss is more important than Katniss herself. This idea points to injustices faced by women involving the ownership of their bodily autonomy. The Hunger Games series is a powerful collection that introduces many important topics that are evident in today’s society. Though The Hunger Games is a young adult series, the books present vital themes that should be treated with utmost seriousness. The series highlights

stereotypical gender roles and contradicts them to highlight the toxicity portrayed in current culture. The strong feminist representation through Katniss also calls out the inequity against women and shows the importance of strong female protagonists in literature.

Works Cited Bray, Danielle Bienvenue. “You Love Me. Real’: Gender in the Hunger Games.” ResearchGate, Salem Press, 2016, www.researchgate.net/ Collins, Suzanne (A). Catching Fire. Scholastic, 2013. Collins, Suzanne (B). The Hunger Games. Scholastic, 2008. Hodgkinson, Bethany. (n.d.). Gender Stereotypes in The Hunger Games. Seen and Heard; Literary Cultures 2. Mitchell, Jennifer. “Of Queer Necessity: Panem’s Hunger Games As Gender Games”. Contemporary Literary Criticism. Vol. 355, Gale, 2012.

Poetry Poetry is the genre that transformed my hobby of writing into a fiery passion. My hand always cramps each time I pick up a pen, ink staining the side of my left hand, but when writing poetry, I never mind the ache. Every thought, whether a sentence or paragraph, is thrown into my notes app on my phone, sitting there just waiting to be turned into something more. I take these prompts and scribble them in my journal, expanding them, providing more depth to make sense of my feelings. When I finish my work, I write it in my finalized journal, which holds all of my completed poems. I feel that I am producing something worthy of being on paper—I feel like I am doing something right. Through all the years of spilling my thoughts through poetry, I never solved why I felt that way, but I finally believe that I have: poetry is the only source that has turned my pain into art—turned my blood into ink on a page. The poems chosen for this collection showcase the progress I have made in my four years at UNA. I not only obtained skills to better express my emotions, but also gained the confidence to be proud of the pieces I created and will continue to create.

Neverland Your shadow formed in my bayside casement, You were a boy, nothing I’d ever seen, Your crooked smile, a perfect placement; I was a girl with a fairytale dream. Pixie dust is simply futile Compared to our love that will never grow old. No doubts in my mind, absence of scruple, A Tiger, a Lily, Both soft and bold. I thought our souls were intertwined. You were my lost boy, and I your lost girl. A Peter and Wendy state of mind, My dreams turned nightmare, my faith unfurled. I thought we were children meant to fly hand in hand, I thought you were my home, my heart, my Neverland.

Right Person, Wrong Time

past life — a golden crown melded around my heart. solid and unwavering. my Prince, my Soul. renaissance dreams alive. a Poet, a Painter, creating worlds of Our own.

a drive-in movie, two straws, one milkshake. Don and Kathy You and Me. a record — a song. “i would die 4 u” and i know You would die for Me too. the present — my bed, absence my new pillow, i realized you were never the Wrong Person. it was simply the Wrong Time.

Annis Lost, you are not. A life well lived, well loved. Veil passed through — beyond. Every heart beaming with influence, No tears — pure joy Dancing in the kitchen with flour on our hands. Eager for your touch, but for now, Rest, my love. Rest.

ADDICTED A sip of champagne cascades Down my

° °

Drowning

loneliness

cyclical

throat

out

Isolation

Champagne

hysteria ° pops

sounds of

— Torture

celebration ° empoigner

the glass Eternally craving comfort like a Drunk on a sober streak

Mothers Daughter. Daddys Girl. An infant. Pink blanket — suffocated. My mother’s daughter. Just a body. A little girl. Pigtails — cute. A “future model.” Just a body. A preteen. Still daddy’s little girl. No boys, only barbies. Just a body. A teenager. Makeup to mask. Legs. Breasts. Ass. 32

Just a body. An adult. A woman wife. A caregiver. Just a body. An elder. A life as an object. No purpose to serve. Just a body. Human. Not daddys girl. Not mothers daughter. Do not look at me — See me.

Ode to the Divine Apollo shines—tanned skin, a light that ignites the soul, burns with grace. Artemis banishes the darkness, a glow for the lost and for the lonely. Poseiden’s wave, foaming and crashing—passion. ocean eyes that could be drowned in. Dionysus turns kisses into wine, completely addictive, drunk on the taste. Athena graces the mind with clarity, with morality, with understanding. Aphrodite’s touch—mold of the gods, crafted of utter allurement. if there is a god, You are the proof. no amount of science or evolution could fathom the idea of You.

Creative Nonfiction Creative Nonfiction is the genre that terrified me the most when exploring new styles of writing in my courses. Though I am completely transparent when writing poetry, conducting an entire nonfiction piece seemed overwhelming. When I began writing them, every sentence felt wrong. I would hit the backspace button until it returned to a blank page on my laptop screen, the blue light burning my eyes. Is my story oversharing? Is there not enough? Questions jumbled in my mind like a dark cloud, completely blocking my ability to write anything. I believed that my life was too monotonous to share, no event worthy of being put on paper. Eventually, through my classes and counseling from my teachers, I began to let go of my fears and write from the heart. Though searching for an event in my twenty-one years to write about was overwhelming, I learned how to search for meaning in the mundane. Each story in this collection covers a moment in my life that sent a surge of anxiety through me because I was officially putting it on paper to share with my peers. Nonfiction has pushed my boundaries as a writer, allowing me to learn how to convey personal stories in a fresh manner. My feelings of unease when writing in this form shifted into contempt. I finally have the ability to turn my life into a work of art—into a story.

I am a Smiling Ghost I don’t want to be my sister. We’re wearing the same dress—Winnie the Pooh and his friends on the red cotton top, white-stitched flowers on the jean skirt. She’s older and taller—I’m younger and smaller. Less noticeable. I can’t wear an outfit of my own, an individual whose uniqueness yearns to be apparent. I am young and do not notice the implications beyond merely matching my sister’s outfit and looking the same: it’s cute, it’s easy, it’s alike. I don’t feel cute, I don’t care to be easy, and I am utterly not myself. I am a smiling ghost. *** I complete a perfect double pirouette. My spot is quick, and so is my urge to look at my teacher for reassurance. My foot lands in a technically sound turn out, and my worn ballet slippers barely make a sound. I smile and glance at her through the mirror—her eyes are somewhere else. Mine follow just in time to see my classmate’s dirty blonde hair whip around to land a quadruple pirouette. My teacher's voice echos over the music in praise—not for me—for her. My smile abandons my eyes, but my teeth are still showing. I prepare again, twirl around, and land unstably—mind and body alike. No one looks, my reflection the only thing staring back. The music drowns my mind, and the beat is the only thing I can feel. I am a smiling ghost. *** I hope the singing isn’t for me. I’m sitting at the head of the table with my legs crossed, my fidgeting hands in my lap. I hear the familiar birthday tune being sung by waiters and waitresses, while one of them holds a slice of chocolate cake. They are weaving their way through the tables, heads turning as they go. They finish singing, my friends have their phones on me, and all of them are laughing. The sides of my mouth lift slightly. I told them I didn’t want that. As they keep conversing, my mind thinks of who I am—about how I’m an introvert who shrinks at the thought of strangers looking at me. I think of how being in public is a challenge, and so I avoid unwanted attention at all costs. I think of how I told my friends that the only thing I want for my birthday is for them to not pull any stunts, especially not telling the workers to sing for me. I told them how it scares me, how I want to be with them, how I want to feel safe. I feel like a joke, but I’m waiting for the punchline. I want to be seen by my friends, not by a 36

whole restaurant of strangers. I am a smiling ghost. *** My drink reaches my lips and I wince as it burns down my throat. My second taste of alcohol is almost as bad as my first was. This is my first time in a bar—it’s too loud, too crowded, too blinding—I attempt to relax and act normal, laughing at a joke I can’t even hear. Every girl has outfits I want, but my body would look out of place in them. I look out of place with my long sleeved, mint green top, along with my jeans that don’t fit quite right. I don’t feel appealing. I want to be. I keep trying to join the conversation with her and her friends I don’t know, but they are facing away from me—their backs towards things that are meaningless, their eyes facing excitement. I try to ask a question about this unfamiliar town I am visiting, but all I receive is a glance of the side of her face and a shrug, and she resumes with her life. I keep smiling and looking around, pretending that I’m looking for someone—maybe myself—and lean against the bar in hopes it will keep me from sinking. It is my lifeline, so maybe it will keep me afloat. The countdown begins and the world is dizzy. “Happy New Year” rings in my ear, and so does the music screaming from the speakers. She helps me walk outside and into her car, and I begin to drift off in the car, her friend looking at me like a problem that needs a solution or to be erased completely. I’m conscious when we get to their apartment, and I feel her hands helping me up. I crawl into bed and she asks if I need anything. Do I need to be drunk to be seen? I say no with pleasantness on my face, and I go to bed thinking about how I feel nothing. I am a smiling ghost. *** I raise my hand, high enough so the professor can see. I know what I want to say, what my opinion is, what I can add to the conversation. I feel smart—an unfamiliar feat—and I hear my name. Words fly out of my mouth, passion igniting, and another emotion appears: worth. “I also believe that the book goes into—” “Actually, I agree with what she said but I think I can add something—” Interrupted, again. The nod of approval goes to the male with glasses, and not the girl with messy braids and an even messier mind. Silenced. Forgotten. I am a smiling ghost. *** 37

The game is on blast, each scream in the crowd splitting my skull. His eyes are focused on the ball, the players swiftly flowing back and forth across the court, completely mesmerizing. My eyes are on him—completely mesmerized. His energy is alive and awake. His voice speaks of “number 1” and his excitement consists of light, more radiant than the television screen. I smile, whether outwardly or simply in my mind, it doesn’t matter—he is happy. He is present. He is alive. And they win. Later, I talk about a book. The characters, the hidden details, the depth. My excitement consists of light. My mind is focused on the story—my eyes are on him. His eyes are closing, closing, closed. His head tilts toward the ceiling. I still talk, my excitement wavering, my voice stuttering. I was happy. He was present. He is asleep. I am a smiling ghost. *** “I want to wear something of my own.” “What did you say?” I am a smiling ghost. *** “Did you see my pirouette?” “What did you say?” I am a smiling ghost. *** “I don’t feel seen.” “What did you say?” I am a smiling ghost. *** “I think I look out of place.” “What did you say?” I am a smiling ghost. *** “He interrupted me.” “What did you say?” I am a smiling ghost. *** “I’m gonna go home.” “What did you say?” 38

I am a smiling ghost. *** I am a ghost—can they see through me?

Margaret Atwood The first time I realized I was a girl, my dad told me I couldn’t get married until I was thirty. I wondered why this was the case, and he said something about protecting me from boys. I wondered why he felt that I needed to be sheltered from them because the only guys I knew were Peter Pan, Prince Charming, and all of the wondrous and dreamy boys from the storybooks my mom read to me. Boys were nice, romantic, and the most loving creatures that I adored. My dad seeking to protect me was just another example of their care for the girls in their lives. What could he possibly want to protect me from? The first time I felt love from a man, I was four years old. My dad threw me in the air while in the swimming pool. He would count down from three and then let go, tossing me to the sky so my wings could spread free. They never did, but I knew my dad would be there to save me from falling—from drowning. He was the one who gave me the opportunity to fly. I don’t know why I never took it. The first time I ever felt true love from a man, fifteen years later, it began with an apology, a rare thing. It ended with a kiss so passionate that I felt whole and tasted the sweetness of lemon juice on my tongue. I knew I would feel the same sensation forever, and I knew I would long for eternity with him. I went to sleep that night feeling that I was a tangled string completely untied—completely undone. Even now, he ignites every part of me, and I him. *** The first time I realized I was a woman, I was six years old. I was told that I couldn’t wear a two piece bathing suit because it was inappropriate. Boys would look at me if I wore one, and so I needed to help them out and cover up. At VBS, the slip n’ slide was my favorite part of the day. All of the kids had popsicle juice dripping down their faces, bathing suits soaked from the water, and sunburns beginning to take form. It was so hot that even in my one piece suit, I was lightheaded and dripping sweat. I was always confused why boys could be topless to cool off, but even my prepubescent body had to be covered. I was with family, I was with friends, so who would ever look at me in a bad way? Why was my body bad? What was wrong with me? I had no idea that womanhood was just that—longing for a breeze, for relief, and never getting it. I was a woman at six years old, but my brother did not have to become a man until he was 40

nineteen. I was catcalled in elementary school, I was told what I can and cannot wear, that my breasts were too big, that I needed to lose weight, that I needed to start shaving in the fourth grade, that boys could burp but I could not, that my shorts were too short, that my shorts were too long, that I needed to wear makeup, that I needed to wear less makeup, that I needed to get pepper spray to protect myself at fourteen, that I could not go anywhere by myself after dark, that I still could not wear a two piece bathing suit because it would make men stare, that I needed a boyfriend, that I needed to be weary of a guy’s intentions, that I needed to be more feminine, that I needed to be better. I needed, I needed, I needed. *** The first time I realized I had never been a girl, I was nineteen years old. I read a quote by Margaret Atwood: “Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies?...You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur.” I remember sinking to my knees and crying until I was empty. This realization ruined me. Every waking moment of my life was lived by a man inside of me telling me how to dress, look, act—telling me how to simply be. I went to bed that night gripping a tear-stained pillow and wishing that I never read those twenty-six words. And just like that damned Margaret Atwood quote, looking back at all I’ve written, this story surrounds men—I have been left behind. But this story is not about boys and men and the effects they have. No. It is about being a woman. So let me restart. *** The first time I realized I was a girl, I was twirling in a Cinderella dress with my sister. We were at Disney World, and I wanted to meet every single princess—every single one of my heroes. My dress was puffy with many tulle layers, and I wore white sneakers instead of glass slippers. I felt beautiful and nobody had to tell me that I was. I felt feminine, I felt free, I felt perfect. I felt like a princess. The first time I felt love from a woman, I was an infant in my mother’s arms. I don’t have a distinct memory of this, but I simply know. My mom didn’t have to say anything for me to know that I was loved—her touch was enough. There is a simplicity and complexity about this. How do I explain the connection of a mother and daughter so strong that I felt it even before I left her womb? I cannot, or perhaps I will not because that is something I never want another person’s hands on. The first time I felt true love from a woman, it was a bit different than romantic love. We were 41

laying in the middle of the street in the middle of nowhere. We weren’t worried about cars running us over because it didn’t matter if they did. We were too distracted by the stars, either wishing they would come down to us or we could go up to them—I am not entirely sure. I just knew that in that moment, she and I were two specs of light that were completely bonded into one. Everything I felt, she felt. Everything she said, I heard. I told her that I was tired, and she understood what I meant. We closed our eyes, took a deep breath, and felt everything entirely. *** The first time I realized I was a woman, I was in my apartment in the dark. I thought about my life and how I needed to live it differently. I

no longer looked at myself thinking about how I needed to cover up for men’s sake. I no longer wore makeup because it would appeal to them more. I no longer cared how short or long my pants were. I no longer, I no longer, I no longer. I began to burp without apologizing. I began to wear makeup because I liked how it made my cheekbones look. I began to wear bikinis because I liked how they let me cool off faster. I began to sit with my legs uncrossed. I began to cry when I felt like it. I began to scream and let myself get angry. I began to wear lipgloss because it made me feel pretty. I began to love dresses again because it reminded me of being a princess. I began to tell people that I love them more. I began to speak louder instead of trying to seem polite. I began to embrace my femininity, not because it would attract men more, but simply because I wanted to. I began, I began, I began. *** I am a woman—and when I think of this statement, I feel agony, joy, and everything in between.