Poetry by Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

Two hundred days ago, I decided to post a piece on my blog every single day. Not because I knew it would grow. Not because I knew it would matter. But because I needed structure. I needed discipline.

Some days were easy. Some weren’t. There were nights I questioned whether anyone was reading, whether it made a difference, whether I should stop. But that was never really the point.

The point was showing up.
The point was building something real.
The point was proving to myself that I could be consistent.

Two hundred days later, I’m still here.
Still writing. Still learning. Still becoming.

The point was always discipline.

— Rowan Evans

The Point Was Discipline
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Two hundred days,
two hundred nights—
I chose to write
in spite of
depression spells,
and anxiety swells.

I wasn’t sure
it would matter
to me, to you,
to anyone.

But here’s the thing—
It didn’t really matter,
that was never the point.

The point was discipline—
that’s why I have
two-hundred days
of showing up.

I wrote confessions.
Almost slipped
and said the words,
1-4-3 and I Meant It.
I’ll say it again,
in just Two Words—
Mahal kita.

I wrote through
Liminal Static,
to uncover things
Etched in Memory.

I wrote poems
with ink-dipped
rose thorns,
Body/Mind,
Quietly Rearranged
in the Depths
of my Sprawling Thoughts.

If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]