quick poems based on phoebe bridgers new album song titles pt 2

 Lost boys

He got a buzzcut right after his thirteenth birthday.
I pretended I didn’t see it, your teenage rebirth,
When you spent minutes at the dining table and 
Hours with a microphone. Yelling until the cold,
Comfortable hours of the night, or until dad told you
To shut the fuck up. 
He feels bad when he doesn’t believe you,
But the anger is a symptom.
The pharmacist loves us, 
But sometimes I wish they’d mix our prescriptions up.