Poetry by Rowan Evans

You say I’m biased—
as if I should be ashamed
of loving loud,
of choosing you
without hesitation.

But baby, I’m not neutral.
I picked a side,
planted my flag,
and it’s got your name on it.

I see you—
not just the soft parts,
but the sharp ones.
Not just the smile,
but the scowl that comes before it.
And I want all of it.
Every version of you.

You told me your "flaws"
like I might run—
but I ran toward them instead.
Straight into the storm,
arms wide open.

You’re strict?
Good.
Command me.
Make the rules.
I’ll follow.
Gladly.
Eagerly.

Possessive?
Please, be.
Tie ribbons of ownership around my heart
and call them boundaries.
I’ll stay inside them willingly.

Jealous?
That’s not a flaw, babe—
that’s a reminder that I’m yours.

Angry?
God, yes—
that fury is art.
And when it pours out of you
like lightning from a dark sky,
I swear—I forget to breathe.

You remember when I told you,
"Just say the word, boss, and it shall be done"?
That wasn’t a joke.
You speak, I obey.
Simple math.
Divine worship.
Call it what you want.

Because I’m not just yours—
I want to be yours.
Fully.
Freely.
Fiercely.

You called me weird
because I said the things you hate about yourself
are what I love the most.
You laughed, called me biased—
and I smiled.
Because you were right.

I'm biased
toward your chaos,
your edge,
your shadows.
Biased toward the way
you claim your space
and dare the world to question it.

And when that bitchy spark comes out?
Yeah, that’s when I melt.
That’s when I fold.
One look, one word—
and I’m gone.

You don’t need to be soft for me.
I don't want you tamed.
I want your storm.

So here I am—
loyal,
open,
submissive,
biased beyond reason.

Not just watching you evolve,
but rooting for it—
wanting it.
Needing it.

You don't scare me, babe.
You undo me.

And I’ll say it again,
just in case you forgot—

I see you.
I accept you.
And I fucking want you.