On the Basis of Black

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Photo Credit: Mahdi Atif

Meet Mikey Cody Apollo, a 25-year-old Milwaukee-based “poet, filmmaker, storyteller, sex-positive feminist and bi-con.” She’s also a spoken word artist of 12 years, with much of her work revolving around her experiences as a Black woman and an intersectional feminist. I had the pleasure of meeting her on Instagram through a mutual acquaintance. We discussed the essence of writing, the magic of creative processes, and the Black experience.

What kind of writer do you deem yourself to be?

This is such an interesting question. I am not sure the kind of writer I deem myself to be yet! I like to think my work is emotional, informative, and exploratory, but sometimes, that feels like I’m attempting to be “deep” when in reality, and the simplest of terms, I write based on feeling and my own lived experiences. I sometimes still feel like the angsty teenager scribbling poems about boys who broke my heart, but you know what, I think that's art, too. I mean, look at Olivia Rodirgo, breaking Spotify records off a breakup album.

What got you into writing in the first place? Are there any particular works or writers which/who have inspired you?

In first grade, my teacher read us a bit of Junie B. Jones. I was hooked immediately. I had always loved books and storytelling, but something about the story of Junie B. Jones sparked something in me to try my hand at writing my own. All summer, I ate through all the Junie B. Jones books that were out, and then, that fall, my second-grade teacher really encouraged me to create my own stories.

I would buy quarter [25 cent] notebooks from her all the time and just lay in my living room, illustrating my characters and writing about their lives. The list of writers who inspire me, aside from Barbara Parks, has grown tremendously, and many are folks who write things that are not poetry or short stories. Carmen Maria Machado, the author of my favorite book, Her Body & Other Parties, is a literary genius. TV & film writers—Issa Rae, Donald Glover, Barry Jenkins and Terence Nance—are also folks who motivate and push me to create.

And then there’s like, all my homies, who are all really fucking brilliant. My best friend is an Emmy-nominated rapper. His name is Genesis Renji. He recently put out his first book titled The Book of Genesis: GOAT Talk. Then, my partner, Mahdi Atif, is a photographer, filmmaker, and writer. He's super dope and I love how he crafts dialogue and people. Sarah Thomas just let me edit her first poetry collection titled Entirely Too Much, and she is by far one of the most creative, honest, quirky, and dedicated voices in queer Black literature right now. Hands down.

And of course, Brit Nicole, who is like my older sister. She just published her first book, Moods, Melanin, and Magic... A Manifesto. That’s been a long time coming and the community almost sold her out before her own release party just from their pre-orders alone! She's dope. Amazing. They all push me to think outside the box and write better, be better.

Tell me about your poetry book, 'Black Girls, Silence, and Other Things Made of Gold'. What influenced you to write it? Did you draw any inspiration from real-life experiences?

Black Girls, Silence, and Other Things Made of Gold is my self-published collection of poetry. That was July of 2017. I was 21-years-old. I had been writing poetry more seriously since my freshman year at High School of the Arts. By the time I got to college, a lot of people in the city knew me / my work and constantly asked me about a book. Admittedly, I was scared. I had completed a manuscript before, but it felt very surface level and not honest. I wanted to be my whole self, so that meant writing and sharing more personal pieces of work. The book is really an autobiography of sorts, exploring my relationship to men, including my (biological) father and my stepdad, my sex life, my heartbreaks, my relationship to Blackness and Womanness, etc.

The biggest push came from Tobias Wray, my creative writing instructor at UW-Milwaukee. I thought he was absolutely brilliant. I mean, I still think that, especially as he lives his best life in a different state! He was one of the best teachers I ever had. He knew what each of his students needed and he also cared, truly cared, about our feelings and our work, and our goals. Without that nudge from him, I am not sure if I ever would have completed this. Because fun fact, a version of the book was actually my final project for that class. We had to assemble a binder full of work from that semester and I, being me, had procrastinated on printing mine. I was rushing to print mine in time for class (I was late anyway!) and I could not think of a name for my portfolio to save my life! I tried to think of all the things I like, like yellow (gold) and Black girls. Then, okay, what connects these two things? Black girls are gold, but what else is? Silence.

Talking from a writer’s point of view, if you could describe your book in one word, a word that powerfully embodies the collection of poetry, which word would it be? And why?

Black. Because everything I do is for Black people, for the legacy of Black people. Also, because I’m Black as fuck and my race/gender cannot be separated from the stories I tell.

How long have you been doing spoken word poetry?

I competed in the poetry category of forensics (writing, speaking, and reading competition) in middle school. During my seventh-grade year, I was originally competing in a category titled Impromptu Speaking, meaning you walk into a room, pick your topic, and then have to give a 3-minute speech about said topic. I was alright at it, but I'm competitive, so I wanted to switch categories and do something else.

So I said, okay, I like to write poems, and I love to read, I’ll just do the poetry contest. And that went well! That was really my first introduction to spoken word. Then, I attended Milwaukee High School of the Arts as a creative writing major. MHSA was the championship team for Still Waters Collective’s High School Slam League (HSSL). I joined the team and that was it! I became a captain in my second year of high school and was captain until I graduated. I loved being a part of Spiders (that was our team name.) It was because of that team that I became who I am now. I can't imagine a world or life without that experience. So all that being said, I've been doing spoken word poetry for ... 12 years. From age 13 to now, age 25.

Tell me about the upcoming movie you are co-producing - what is it about? What drove you to produce it?

So, I actually co-wrote the movie with my partner, Mahdi Atif. We were approached by the filmmaker Andrew Swant at the top of 2020, you know before the world spiraled out of control, and he asked if we would be interested in partnering with him on a project. He had just won the 2019 Brico Forward Fund and he wanted Black writers for this story. At first, I was a little apprehensive, just because this was a white man I had not met before (we were introduced because of Molly Veh, my bestie at Milwaukee Film) who wanted to write about this Black boy from Sherman Park.

But then, George Floyd was murdered. And then, after having a painfully honest and transparent conversation with Andrew about how terrified I was of doing this project, I realized that he was someone I could trust and who truly valued this city and this story. I brought Mahdi on to the project because he had way more screenwriting experience than me and he had grown up in Sherman Park—same childhood home from when he was born to when we moved into our first apartment together. It really was a learning opportunity for the three of us, and I am extremely grateful to Andrew for trusting me and giving me this chance.

I had been wanting to make movies since 2016, but now, I was actually getting my chance. The Good Land is about Kairi, a precocious and mostly responsible, 10-year-old boy from Milwaukee's Sherman Park. His father is incarcerated. His mom works two jobs, leaving him to really take on a lot of chores and household duties, like cooking and cleaning, at an early age. One day, after a class presentation goes wrong and he argues with his mom, he decides to run away from home in search of a rumored ocean on the other side of the city. It’s a tale about childhood, about Milwaukee and all her people, about the adultification of Black children, the mass incarceration in the city, joy, adventure, and a lot more. We were really diligent about not making this another story about gun violence or police brutality or Black trauma.

Are you working on any other new projects?

I’m currently working on a feminist sci-fi / thriller anthology series featuring three stand-alone short films that each deal with subjects such as consent, public nudity, censorship, pornography, masturbation, and sex. I am really excited and also very anxious about it! But mostly excited because I already have a handful of homies who I know will do whatever it takes to make this project come to life. It's also wild to think like... I'm actually a filmmaker now? Like that's what I do, I write poems, short stories, and movies. I don't know if I ever would have thought this to be my life.

I hear that this city has somewhat inspired your work. What particularly in regards to the city of Milwaukee gave you those external creative impulses?

Of course, Milwaukee inspires my work! I would not be the artist I am without Milwaukee. All of my stories, my poems, my films, are Milwaukee because I'm Milwaukee. This city is so often misunderstood and chastised that no one tries to see the beauty or complexities. This city is a gold mine. There is really no reason Milwaukee can’t be a Chicago, an L.A, a New York, whatever! We got all the right people and organizations. We just need more support from its residents and other sources, more money, etc. I think within my lifetime, this will become one of those places, so it only makes sense that the city that nurtures me in turn also nurtures my storytelling.

Has the recent pandemic impacted or influenced your work in any way? (Such as experimenting with new literary formats, genres, expressions?)

O, most definitely! I think poetry, as much as I love it, became a bit of a limitation. I was comfortable with the genre. I knew the ins and outs of poetry. I was confident in it. However, that can also be a hindrance because then I became too comfortable and was not feeling challenged anymore. So I really took the pandemic and the time unemployed to explore other genres, like short stories, like screenwriting, and used that as a way to focus all my energy and also, become a better creative artist.

Besides poetry, are there any other mediums of art that you enjoy dipping your toes in?

Honestly, not really. I really enjoy partaking in other art forms though, like visual art and theater. I miss walking around museums and galleries! So so much! I also really miss seeing live performances.

Oftentimes, poems speak different languages: they produce different meanings and give different answers to different people. When it comes to your poetry, how important is the “accessibility of meaning?” Do you believe one should have to work hard to “solve” one of your poems? Or simply take it as they see fit?

I value accessibility. I don’t think it’s necessary for someone to have to struggle to know the meaning of my poetry. However, I do hope that white folks and other non-Black folks take my work and use it as a way to unpack their relationship to antiBlackness. Those are the only folks who should really be “working” through my poetry.

I see that much of your work revolves around your experiences as a Black woman and matters of intersectional feminism. Are there any other issues you’d like to touch upon in the future with a creative angle? Which topic(s), if any, do you wish more artists would explore more of in their work?

I would love to explore queerness in my work more, especially now that I’m “out.” I’ve been examining my relationship with it a lot this Pride month.

I wish more artists explored their identities in ways that aren’t rooted in trauma and pain. Don’t get me wrong, I think these stories are still necessary and insightful, but they’re also getting repetitive and feel as if they’re exploiting the community. (I’m thinking specifically of the films Antebellum and Two Distant Strangers as I write this.)

Lastly, what do you want your readers to take away from your work? Is there an overall message you’d like to convey from your collection of creative pieces?

I hope my readers take away different things depending on the poem. Most of the time, I just want people to treat queer Black people, especially women and femmes, with dignity. And I hope my work challenges whatever notions they have and makes them want to be better.

For Black folks and queer folks, I hope my work is a thing of love. A sign I see them. A reminder that they’re not alone and that they’re worthy.