This poem is a reflection on identity, expectation, and self-perception. It pokes fun at the rigid “alpha/beta” hierarchies humans obsess over, while also embracing the awkward, complicated truth of being a loner—or a “lone wolf with no wolfly features.” It’s a celebration of existing somewhere in-between: neither fitting the molds others prescribe, nor apologizing for being too observant, too complex, too queer, too alive in your own terms. Humor and honesty are both weapons here, used to dismantle clichés and to claim space for a self that refuses binaries.
“Somewhere In-Between” — A reflection on identity, solitude, and the courage to exist unapologetically as oneself.
Somewhere In-Between (Neither Alpha, Nor Beta) Poetry by Rowan Evans
Sometimes it feels like nobody wants me around. That’s okay though— I don’t want me around either.
I’m so off-putting— I’m not a people pleaser. A lone-wolf, with no wolfly features.
I write too much. I don’t say enough. Too observant for my own good.
Everybody wants an alpha male— Not some beta boy, beta fish, Watch him get pissed. Headbutting his own reflection.
Me? I carry myself with class. Not an alpha, not a beta, Somewhere in-between.
I wrote this— And I don’t know what it means.
I write too much. I don’t say enough. Too observant for my own good.
Like, everyone wants to lock-in. Stuck in the binary— But me? I’m a non-binary fairy, Queer as fuck, like the ones I don’t give.
And it feels like nobody wants me around. That’s okay though— I understand.
I’m too confusing. Too complex. I recognize a pattern, I know what comes next.
Everybody leaves, like it’s autumn. Gaining distance from the trees.
I write too much. I don’t say enough. Way too observant for my own good.
If you have made it this far and would like to check out more of my work, you can find it [here] in The Library of Ashes.
Sound has always lived differently in me. Being autistic means the world sometimes reaches me at full volume — too much light, too much noise, too much everything.
The static hum of a fluorescent bulb, the electricity whispering through the walls when everything else falls silent — it’s constant, it’s aggravating, and it overwhelms me more often than I’d like to admit.
But music? Music has always been my calm.
It’s the one constant that never demanded I make sense of myself. With every note, I could breathe again. Certain songs still hold the fingerprints of who I was the first time I heard them — I can feel the exact ache, the pulse, the quiet hope that hummed beneath my skin. Music has always been my way back to myself.
Over the past twenty years, that love has stretched across oceans. I fell for Japan’s wistful melancholy, for Korea’s raw confessions, for China’s grace and discipline, and for the Philippines’ warmth and heart. I didn’t need to understand every word — I could feel them. Emotion translates without permission.
What began as listening became belonging. These cultures gave me soundtracks for my healing, and languages that somehow spoke me fluently before I ever learned to translate them.
This poem is my thank-you — a devotion to the music and the lands that shaped me.
— Rowan Evans
“Music is how I pray — across oceans, across languages, across lives.”
Polyjamourous Poetry by Rowan Evans
I am polyjamourous for music, polyamorous for culture— I love across language, love across oceans of distance.
Japan whispers in my bones, Korea hums in my veins, China flows through my pulse, the Philippines lingers in my breath. Each a lantern in the corridors of my heart, each echo a thread of home woven into who I am.
I am polyjamourous for music, polyamorous for culture— I love across language, love across distance. I bow to the lands that shaped me, even from a thousand miles away, even from a thousand lives away.
And to them, I murmur— ありがとう, 감사합니다, 谢谢, salamat po, thank you—
Each syllable, a soft flame, a quiet devotion carried across the world, across time, across the chambers of my soul.
Soundtrack of My Heart
The music that shaped me, that carried me through nights of stillness and storms of thought, is more than sound—it is devotion. Here are a few threads of that tapestry, songs that held me, lifted me, and made me feel home during my 20 years of listening to music across oceans:
The GazettE – “Filth in the Beauty” The soundtrack to my 17-year-old chaos—every riff, every scream etched into memory. The GazettE taught me that beauty can thrive in filth. R.I.P. Reita.
XG – “WOKE UP” A reminder of why I fell in love with K-Pop—the raw energy, the pulse, the feeling of waking fully alive in music. Language doesn’t matter; what hits the soul never needs translation. XG’s fire makes me feel every beat, every pulse, alive.
By2 – “Don’t Go Away” I was 19 the first time this song became part of me—each note, each line a mirror for the ache and hope of that age. By2 showed me the power of longing, of holding on and letting go at once. Even now, it hits me right in the chest, a familiar heartbeat across time and distance.
BINI – “Pantropiko” Instant sunshine—bright, unstoppable, impossible not to move to. Pantropiko reminds me that joy can be loud, colorful, unapologetic. Every time it plays, it lifts me, fills the room with warmth, and makes me feel fully alive in the moment.
Each song is a lantern, each beat a heartbeat, each melody a language of the soul. Listen, feel, and know—my polyjamorous heart beats across these lands, and perhaps yours will, too.
Poetry by Rowan Evans 