Once upon a time, back when I was still a baby duck, my mother was a drag king. She was actually the most famous one in our pond. I was so proud to be her daughter…
Until the day she was challenged to a duel and fell under the sword of fellow drag king, Duxx Deluxxe.
Just like that, I was suddenly more ashamed than I had ever been of anything in my life.
Our noble family name was ruined. How could we ever look the other ducks in the eye?! Even the geese were mocking us, led by that awful, moronic Mother Goose…
My mother settled for being second-best after her defeat, but I wouldn’t accept that fate for us. Thus, I made the necessary arrangements, and proceeded to do what had to be done for both my family and myself.
Like me, Rupi Kaur is a first-generation, Indian-Canadian (not Indian-American, but still very similar), twenty-something-year-old woman [and poet].
This isn’t exactly a “concoction” a girl like myself, who didn’t know any other writers [or even about the #WritingCommunity] until just a few months ago], saw every day…. Or, any day, really [outside of myself].
In fact, I still don’t.
We’re minorities in more ways than one and, in that, I absolutely knew I had to check out Rupi’s poetry when she dropped her first book, Milk and honey.