Poetry by Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

This interlude is my confession of emptiness, of drifting through life with no roots, no cultural anchors, no lineage I can touch. It’s the internal echo of being “other” in a country that claims a melting pot but rewards conformity and erases difference. Each rapid-fire stanza is a pulse of longing, a beat of loss, a declaration that I am searching—not just for my past, but for a way to build my own culture from the silence I inherited. It’s brief, raw, and unflinching: a snapshot of being unmoored, yet unwilling to stay lost.

Slim & Shady: Culture Forgotten, Heritage Lost
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I’m a ghost in my own skin,
no map, no hymn, no origin.
A melting pot? More like a black hole—
it swallowed my roots, left me a wandering soul.

I look in the mirror, see pale as a blank page,
but the story’s been stolen, erased by the age.
No language, no song, no ancestral sign—
just fast food and flags where my bloodline should shine.

I drift through your holidays, hollow and cold,
watching borrowed rituals, stories retold.
Everyone’s got a temple, a river, a shrine—
I’ve got silence, a hunger I can’t define.

White skin’s not heritage, it’s a curtain, a disguise,
a passport to comfort, but a cage for my eyes.
I’m rootless, restless, scratching at the clay—
looking for ancestors that time threw away.

I craft new rituals from rage, from ash, from ache,
I spit verses like prayers that my blood couldn’t make.
Every line is a shovel, every rhyme a seed—
I’m planting my own culture from the hunger, the need.

Call me lost, call me rootless, call me unnamed—
but I’ll rise from this void, unshamed, unclaimed.
I’ll build my own lineage, verse by verse,
a culture reborn from the ache, not the curse.

If you are interested in reading the whole series, find it here: The Slim & Shady Series

And if you just want to read more of my work, you can find that here: The Library of Ashes