Today I Got to Say No to Cancer

Photo by Marcelo Leal on Unsplash

A big moment for anybody who walks this earth. Exasperated for me by the very fact it’s the one thing I’ve spent 15 years, without real effort, (if there was any) trying to escape.

My grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer at 48. She was gone before 56.

I’m what you might call an old soul/

but what is an old spirit,

when too many die before 66.

No one retires til death.

So, when my doctor called to say not only was there no molar pregnancy but there was no molar…

Photo by Stephen Leonardi on Unsplash

I’m writing from the Big house.

I’ve just rolled my third cigarillo for the day, and the neighbor from the American Ranch, two houses down on the right side of the street, has already stopped by twice, begging for something new each time. It’s barely noon.

When we arrived on the block, I didn’t care too much for the American’s eggnog stuccoed flat. I remember how the flag greeted me for the first time coming up on the cove — commanding my attention, expecting a response. …

I’ve always been a bit of a snob. All of my snobberies are well rounded by good manners, an extroversion born for the ball, and conversational skills that can talk a militant out of any vice. Consequently, the snobbery goes unnoticed to my advantage. But If you know me, you know my go-to precursor for any rabid story I’m ramping up to tell, is, don’t judge me (or my parents because the story is probably about them.) I’m not entirely sure it’s true that I don’t want to be judged, the truth is my give-a-fuck-o-meter conked out a long time…

i’m running
pink shorts, white top
the street lined with white markers
falls to the heavens beneath me.

The sky is red, pale pink like vomit.
Lonesome in its clarity.

the cliffs are breaking
the rocks are trembling slowly,
drooling onto the pathway
that is my only escape

I am Coyote. She is Roadrunner.
Yet, everybody is still.
The only thing extending
is the time between us.

I am frantic
sweat pours out my soul like honey
lining the insides of my thighs
soaking all the wrong places
at all the wrong times

the air is thin
the trees are bare

Kylah Strickland

Blck.femme. queer. writer. artist. mama. she|her. sometimes silly. sometimes sane. @_.kmsp

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