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Boys.

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This needs to stop.
I knew you when you ate glue –
and you, you threw rocks –
and you, you pulled my braids –

And now, you’re matching ties to flowers –
and you, you’re working three jobs –
and you, you got a concussion last night,
protecting the questionable pride of our school –

You, you’re f***ing my best friend –
and you, you’re looking down my shirt –
and you, you’re throwing furtive glances,
and I’m not sure I’m sorry –

This needs to stop,
this whole growing-up thing.




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