Poetry by Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

These paired pieces come from a place of reflection, reckoning, and resilience. Ten Beers is written from the perspective of a younger self, caught in the cycle of self-medication, chaos, and denial. Its repetition mirrors the rituals we create to escape, the desperate attempts to quiet the storm in our own minds.

Through Clear Eyes is the response, the voice of survival and understanding. It looks back with compassion, honesty, and accountability, confronting past pain while acknowledging growth. Together, they explore addiction, self-destruction, and ultimately, forgiveness—both of oneself and of the ways we survive.

I offer these poems as a testament to the storms we endure, the patterns we outgrow, and the quiet victories of seeing clearly, even after years of being lost in the haze.

— Rowan Evans

Ten Beers
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I drank ten beers,
then I drank ten more—
just trying to escape my mind.
To numb the pain,
to quiet the storm inside.
I drank ten beers,
then I drank ten more.

It wasn’t a problem in my eyes,
I had it all under control.
I could stop when I wanted—
I just didn’t want to.
So I drank and drank,
then I drank some more.
I drank ten beers,
then I drank ten more.

I chased the blackout,
just wanted to turn the lights out.
Quiet the storm raging unseen.
It’s all in your head. Just don’t be sad.
If only it were that easy.
I was drunk every weekend—
the only way I could be.
I couldn’t see…
there were people who needed me.

I remember waking up,
cans lined up—
eighteen, twenty deep.
I’d stumble to my feet,
this was weekly, rinse and repeat.
I drank ten beers,
then I drank ten more—
just trying to quiet the storm.

I poured liquor into whatever cup,
goal was to get fucked up.
Chasing the blackout, turning the lights out.
Cut power. Fade out.
I thought I was fine,
thought I was in control—
but the alcohol had a hold of me.
I was borderline,
still telling myself “I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t.
I was numbing the pain,
avoiding everything.
So I—
drank ten beers,
then I drank ten more.

It was a problem.
Felt like I was the problem.
But I was just trying to quiet the storm—
raging in my head,
while I whispered,
“I’m young, just having fun.”

Through Clear Eyes
Poetry by Rowan Evans

You weren’t having fun,
you were hurting—
you just refused to see.
You numbed yourself too much,
blurred your own vision,
slurred your words.

You were hurting,
and thought you could fix it
by getting fucked up.
I forgive you, but—
look what we did to us.
You drank to numb the pain,
to quiet the storm inside our brain.

Then I had to fight like hell
just to feel normal again.
It was toxic, the way we coped.
We lashed out, bitter all the time,
still swearing we were fine.

Had to make phone calls
to find missing clothes—
and you still couldn’t see.
The problem was me.

Closing Note

These pieces reflect a time when alcohol was a way to quiet the storm in my head, a form of self-medication I thought I could control. Through introspection, reflection, and deliberate inner work, my relationship with alcohol has changed. Today, I can drink without chasing blackouts, without using it to numb myself. I write these poems not to glorify past behavior, but to bear witness to it, to understand it, and to acknowledge how far I’ve come.

— Rowan Evans

You can find all of my work in my archive [The Library of Ashes].