Good thing of the day: I read my mum a poem I wrote recently about being mixed (about bone marrow; bullshit magazine articles about how everyone will be mixed by 2055 that only depict people mixed with white who have a suspicious number of recessive traits for anyone who should be the “average”; carrying my white father’s name instead of my mother’s for safety and prosperity because I wouldn’t be able to get jobs otherwise; being upheld as a standard to which other poc are expected to adhere due to being light and having so many white features…that sort of stuff), and she really loved it, which means I’ve done something right. I mean, my mum tends to be less critical than my dad, but I actually think her judgement is more valid. When I was thirteen, my dad told me that I shouldn’t write about “social issues” and “politics” in my poems because it sounded preachy and detracted from my poetic talent. It made it so hard for me to write about anything that matters to me for so long. Now though, I realize that it’s his bias as a white man who is accustomed to seeing poetry as some ethereal shit about “universal” issues. I wrote about being sick for years instead, and about how terrified I was of dying, and I alluded to the work of “Great Poets TM” over and over and honestly I think he meant well and I recognize that initial poem (about socialism) was pretty fucking shit, but HELLO, I was thirteen. Thirteen year olds write some shit poems sometimes.
But anyway, my mum liked my poem. That was my good thought of the day. She thought it was good. Since she makes an appearance in it, I’m glad she thought it was good. It’s hard writing people into your work, because it’s so easy to misrepresent them, or oversimplify them. I think it was good though. She thought it was good. I’m glad she thought it was good.