milk and pomegranate

Ammature writer Professional ponderer feedback appriciated <3

[pattiebateman]

Hey everyone sorry I haven’t been posting my poetry recently I was in the mental hospital but great stuff coming soon !

[pattiebateman]

silence

The silence is agonising; thick, like choking on smoke. Tar fills my lungs with every breath; when I exhale, it claws to stay inside.

It clouds my sight, dulls every sense. But silence isn’t absence it’s noise with nowhere to go. It sharpens the blood in my ears, rattles my bones with each thought. Everything I am is echoing.

It presses down, dragging my limbs through trenches while my stomach churns cold and sour.

Silence is not silence. It’s a scream with no mouth.

[pattiebateman]

i find it funny how some of my favourite poems that I’ve written are objectively my worst ones, that’s why ai poetry doesn’t work, there’s no formula or rules to make a great poem, only guidelines that you use to pour your heart and soul onto a page, that’s the root of poetry, something ai just can’t replicate.

[pattiebateman]

I’m too employed to keep writing poetry what has my life become

[pattiebateman]

June

She smiles in every colour of the rainbow 

Her gaze unwraps the morning and blooms through sleepy blinds.

Birdsong follows wherever she goes, and people dance to the hush of her breath, soft and golden.

She peers through stained glass windows, gathers herself in puddles on the street, seeing beauty in all things, or perhaps leaving it behind like footprints.

June, I wish you’d stay forever. Your arms shelter us from the cold and dimming dark. but if you stayed, we’d never appreciate the spark when you come back.

[pattiebateman]

The Burning Bush

Twigs claw at my ankles, leaves whisper doubt, as I drag this unwilling body through the woods. The wind shoves me backward "Go home," it howls. But I press on, deaf to its ancient wisdom.

The sun gutters out, snuffed like a candle, and darkness oozes in, thick as oil; stalking, smothering, maddening. Still, I wait.

The bush ignites. Flames bloom like prophecy. Its warmth like my mother’s arms, its glow a holy summons.

It crackles, whispers through smoke and ember: "You’ve passed the test."

I crawl forward, blistered and breathless, sure this is the hush at the end of the trial, "this is what I’ve been waiting for."

But as I kneel, the fire opens its mouth. It does not lift it devours. It does not sing it screams.

My skin splits. My lungs fill with ash. Is this what I’ve been waiting for?

My final prayer curls into cinders, scattered on the wind.

-E.N

[pattiebateman]

Crimson lullaby

Drip. Drip. Drip. The river cradles me, a womb of salt. My body aches against the silk binds of gravity.

The water washes the sins from my wrinkling flesh, splitting along the fault lines of every forgotten bruise, every whispered cruelty pressed deep into bone.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound threads the hollow cathedral of my skull, eating at the ugly clamor of shame, the bitter hymns of worry.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Time nicks the water. It bruises crimson, bleeding me lighter, bleeding me clean.

Drip.. drip.. drip.. The current softens, a hand smoothing a fevered brow. I float, untethered, weightless as mist skimming warm stones.

Pain hums far away, Above me, sorrow curls into twilight, thin as a sigh, disappearing into the first shy stars.

drip…drip…drip;

[pattiebateman]

April

A soft breeze whispers through the waking world, its fingers combing through my hair, brushing past bare arms, lifting winter’s weight from my skin.

Morning spills like gold through the cracks of a teacup, slashes of light part the dusk-hued clouds, melting the frost bitten silence with its warmth, Christening each pansy, primrose, and poppy with its golden touch.

Sweet strawberries stain the innocent faces of youth, red-stained lips pressed to their mothers' cheeks, joy sugared with sunlight, carried by the whispers of rustling willows.

Above, the clouds weep silver, their joy pooling in cupped leaves, slipping into the earth’s open hands, where tender blades of grass rise and sway, a cradle for all Gods creatures.

And all around, the world exhales, soft, clean, and new again.

E.N

[pattiebateman]

I’m sick of surviving, for once— I want to live.

[pattiebateman]

The weight of joy

Happiness is heavy. It sits in my palms, fragile, trembling, a thing too delicate to hold for long.

I press it against my chest, try to keep it there, but the weight of all I’ve buried claws its way back up, curling around its edges, threatening to swallow it whole.

The brighter the day, the longer the shadow stretches. The louder I laugh, the sharper the ache behind my ribs.

I fight to keep it alive, this fragile, flickering thing, but the more I try, the more I feel it slipping— the more I remember how much easier it is to feel nothing at all.

E.N

[perfectfeelings]

“Be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.”

— Max Ehrmann; Desiderata

[therecoveryquotes]

The biggest wall you have to climb is the one you build in your mind: Never let your mind talk you out of your dreams, trick you into giving up. Never let your mind become the greatest obstacle to success. To get your mind on the right track, the rest will follow.

— Roy T. Bennett, The Light in the Heart

[marandsviet]

"Every challenge you face is a chapter in your story of greatness."

[pattiebateman]

for anyone experiencing writers block or self doubt:

Every day, I wake up afraid that this will be the day my inspiration runs dry—that my passion will fade into obscurity. But that fear is what drives me. It pushes me to keep living, to keep experiencing the good, the bad, the terrifying, and the beautiful. As long as you can feel, you can write.

[pattiebateman]

ode to normalcy

I’ve never aspired to luxury, to the glint of gold or the roar of applause. I want an apartment—small, sunlit, alive with laughter, where the neighbors play music too loud on Saturdays and the scent of someone’s cooking seeps through the walls.

I want to wake to the blare of an alarm, to curse the traffic, sip coffee from my mug, to scribble grocery lists on the backs of receipts, to chase discounts, count coins, and plan cheap vacations with a suitcase plastered with stickers and stamps.

I want to pick out furniture, one mismatched piece at a time, to hold spoons in my hand and wonder which ones feel right. I want to meet a stranger in a bar, to share a drink, a glance, a story that may never matter, or maybe will.

I want to serve tea and tell people to have a nice day, to smile at strangers on the street just because. I want a kitchen warm with the scent of something simmering, a home filled with the quiet hum of ordinary things.

I want to post stupid pictures of my normal, boring life and share them with my normal, boring person— the one who makes the ordinary feel extraordinary.

[pattiebateman]

Lamb of God

The lamb lies next to me, A cloud caught in the warmth of a meadow, Her eyes wide with innocence, Unaware of the world beyond this soft embrace.

She does not know of sacrifice, Of slaughter, of shearing, Of the cruelty and injustice she's born into, Or the silent tears that fall unseen, As wool is torn from her, A gift taken in the name of greed.

She does not know how angry she should be, How to question the circle of this world, She only knows the warmth of now, The sun on her back, the grass beneath her, A quiet breath shared between us, As if, for once, The world has paused its cruel turning.

I hope she never knows How angry she should be.

[pattiebateman]

Evelyn

You mention the weather, I hum to the music. You light my cigarette , And we breathe in each other’s silence. in a fleeting moment, The time we shared drifts away, Carried by the soft, unhurried spring breeze. Not a goodbye- but an erasure of what once was.