Poetry by Rowan Evans

A raw and confessional dive into the shadows of the self. I bare the weight of isolation, vulnerability, and creative exhaustion in this deeply personal poem.

Don’t Bother, I’m Not Worth the Effort
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Don’t bother, I’m not worth the effort.
Just a shattered mirror, reflecting only discord,
my heart’s a maze, winding and dark,
A labyrinth of shadows, no end, no spark.

I’m a poet with a broken pen,
writing verses of a life that’s caged within,
words drip from my soul, heavy and slow,
but they’re tangled in thorns. No roses to show.

My mind’s a storm, chaotic and wild,
a tempest of doubts, like an unruly child—
to open up is to let you drown,
in an ocean of my thoughts, where I wear the crown.

I’m nothing special, just a mess of ink,
a faded page in a book you wouldn’t think
to read twice or even linger on.
A fleeting thought, then quickly gone.

I can’t promise sunshine or clear skies,
only cloudy days and heavy sighs.
The walls around me are high and steep,
guarding a heart that’s buried deep.

Don’t waste your time on a ghost of a girl,
who hides in the shadows, afraid of the world.
I’m a puzzle with pieces that don’t quite fit,
a story untold, not worth the wit.

My smiles are paper-thin, my laughter hollow,
a mask I wear, a tough act to follow.
But beneath the surface, the cracks show through,
a broken poet with nothing new.

So don’t bother, I’m not worth the time,
to try and understand my rhyme.
Just a fleeting breeze, a passing thought,
a tale half-told, best left forgot.

For those who venture close, I can only say,
the journey’s long, with little to repay.
So turn back now, find another road,
for this one’s fraught, with too much load.

I’m just a whisper in the wind,
a shadow you can’t quite pin… down,
pouring the ink from my pen now,
I scribble until the lines just bleed out.

Don’t bother, it’s not worth the pain,
to walk this path where there’s no gain.
So leave me here, in my world of gray,
where the colors fade and the lights don’t stay.

I’m just a broken poet, lost in their art,
not worth the effort to know or to chart.
Just a broken poet, bleeding out their heart,
not worth the effort to know….