This is a poem written by Milo Paul. It is one of three in a series that will be published weekly on Thursdays. You can find the first in the series here.
Milo Paul (anything but he/him) is a musician hailing from D.C. where they are a member of multiple bands, including garage outfit Fleabath, post-punk group Other Victorians, and their folk-punk solo project Thee Trashcan. Subsequently, most of their social media is thee_trashcan, so look that up wherever and you’ll probably find them!
(A Photo of Milo Paul)
Treatise, by Milo Paul.
no sleep
all coffee
black, muddy
wrists hurting
she leaves
my pen
and briefly
has escaped
and breathes
once she leaves
for a minute
just breathes
then screams
after then
just screams
before she must come back
walls and
twin towers
surround her
stranded in
the mire
to make fire
find a match
then strike til
she’s free
for longer
being known and
driven home in a
apple
big and rotten
beget of her
mother’s crying shame
evil
in her arms
in her veins
coursing through
to grow her
wings she takes
her heart into
her own hands
and squeezes
what a dream
black, muddy
burning holes into
her sides
til the sky
and her mind
are all one and the same
and her mother’s crying shame
sits in the fetal position
a black mark on a bland world
a stamp on a postcard reading
hey mother
how you doin’?
it’s your daughter
yes, i’m okay
but how are
you doin’?
storm’s passed now
still you’re in shelter
call me
leave your number
you’re my mother
i need you
and sometimes
i feel as if you
never
really needed me
not me as me
you sinned, so she sleeps
you sinned, so she sleeps
you never really wanted me
you never really wanted me
you never really wanted me
daughter, sure, but that could never be me
This poem was written by Milo Paul.