Ancient liberty is declining. And some are hoping that you won’t notice.

For more:

I have perfected
the poems about
The Boy That Leaves.

I am sure to memorize his body
and the shadow it sets from
the moment
he enters
to the kiss of the lips on the door frame
as he runs

I could try writing
about The Boy Who Stays,
The Boy Who Loves.

But there is no drama,
no dying breath, no burned lungs.

There is no shameful stale drink,
no pinkened veins,

no horror stories.

And there will always be boys
that leave;
there are so few that stay.

—  Michelle K., To The Boys That Left.