If there wasn’t cancer, would same-gender marriage be legalized?

Seven days ago, I quit smoking.

Seven days ago, the Supreme Court of the United States ruled in favor of same-gender marriage.

Seven days ago, my sister shaved my head.

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The first time I started smoking, I was a teenager voluntarily trapped in a psych ward.

The first time I realized same-gender marriage could be possible was the first time I could legally vote.  I didn’t.

The first time I shaved my head, my mother was still dying from cancer.                                                                                                She did.

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Nine days ago, a nurse told me that I have high-grade precancerous cells inside my vaginal canal.

Nine days ago, my ex-girlfriend left me a voicemail that said: “Remember me?” She doesn’t understand that my love for her overlaps together and apart.

Nine days ago, I was growing out my hair.

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First, on the phone with the nurse, I cried about losing my insurance to capitalism.

Then, on the phone with the nurse, I cried about wanting to birth another child.

I still haven’t cried about wanting to keep living.                                                                                                                                                                                                 To keep living.

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Today, I had lunch with a stranger.