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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: Battle Poetry

  • Mutant Ink | An X-Men-Inspired Battle Poem About Wordplay & Rebirth by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some writers pick up a pen. Others discover they’ve accidentally assembled an entire mutant power set.

    Mutant Ink is my love letter to the X-Men universe, where every ability becomes another way to bend language, twist expectations, and leave a mark on the page. From mind-reading and magnetic control to teleportation, razor-sharp claws, and storms summoned through rhyme, this poem turns familiar mutant powers into weapons of wordplay. The references are playful, the bars are sharp, and the name-drops are absolutely intentional.

    But beneath the comic-book chaos is something that reaches beyond fandom. Creativity is its own kind of evolution. Sometimes a line needs to be dismantled, a verse needs to burn, and an entire draft needs to die before something better can rise in its place.

    That’s where Phoenix comes in.

    Because the goal isn’t simply to write another poem. It’s to become something more through the act of writing it. Every revision, every failure, every spark that refuses to die becomes part of the next transformation.

    Call it mutation. Call it ascension. Call it poetic evolution.

    Just don’t stand too close when the ink catches fire.

    — Rowan Evans

    A poet wields a glowing fountain pen amid floating metal, a teleportation vortex, storm clouds, and orange flames as a fiery phoenix rises from a burning manuscript, symbolizing mutant-inspired wordplay and creative rebirth.
    Sharp lines. Mutant powers. Burning ink. Sometimes the poem has to die before the Phoenix can rise.

    Mutant Ink
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m not Walken,
    my name’s not Christopher—
    I’m stuck in the chair,
    like my name’s Xavier—
    reading your thoughts
    displayed on the page—
    ink laid—I bend bars,
    the way Magneto does.

    And my mind is sharp,
    like my lines are,
    It’s Snikt!—
    every time I write bars,
    words so sharp—
    they’ll cut and leave scars.

    BAMF!
    That’s not a sound effect,
    that’s just what they call me.
    BAMF!
    I never left, no other dimension,
    I’m still here, you’re trippin’.
    They say it’s teleportation—
    I say misdirection—
    look away for one second,
    now I’m somewhere else
    in the sentence—

    I ink storms, and that’s why I
    always start with the dryline.
    I’ll hit you with cyclonic rhymes
    from a twisted mind—
    do you know what happens when
    a Toad gets struck by lightning?
    The same thing that happens
    to everything else—

    and the sky turns Grey,
    it’s usually blue as my Jeans are.
    But that’s what happens
    when Summers mix with Frost—
    turn the heat up, Hellfire Club.

    When the heat gets too high,
    I don’t break—
    I burn.
    Call it evolution,
    call it ascension,
    call it the moment every line
    catches fire at once—

    I go full Phoenix,
    rising out the rhyme scheme,
    feathers made of flame,
    every word a rebirth—
    because sometimes the only way
    to finish a poem
    is to let it die—
    and rise again, stronger.

    Journey into the Hexverse

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

  • Creative Whiplash (Pick A Lane!) | A Poem About Creative Identity & Self-Doubt by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes the loudest critic in the room is the one living inside your own head.

    Creative Whiplash (Pick A Lane!) is about the pressure to define yourself as a writer, choose a style, and stay neatly within its boundaries—even when your creativity refuses to cooperate. One moment, I’m writing gothic poetry; the next, I’m throwing punchlines, weaving mythology, or drawing battle lines with a pen.

    And somewhere in the middle of all that, the inner critic starts screaming that nothing makes sense.

    The funny part? Sometimes the poem proves the critic wrong before the critic even finishes complaining.

    Maybe I don’t need to pick a lane. Maybe creativity was never meant to be a straight road.

    — Rowan Evans

    A poet stands at a surreal crossroads between gothic forests, a battle arena, mythological ruins, and a comedy stage, symbolizing creative versatility and the struggle to choose one artistic style.
    Pick a lane? I tried. My creativity took the exit, changed three times, and somehow wrote a poem about it.

    Creative Whiplash (Pick A Lane!)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I asked you to show me a metaphor—
    you asked, what’s the meta for?
    You said you’re a writer, are you sure?
    Because I’m not anymore—
    run on sentence, run on lines,
    zero flow and zero rhymes—
    that’s how you write.

    Ironic—

    I just proved myself
    wrong, right?
    Well, sometimes I get in my head,
    convince myself that nothing I write
    is ever good enough—
    and no one can call my bluff.

    Isn’t that rough?

    Pick a lane! Pick a lane!
    Repeated, screaming in my brain—
    are you a gothic poet,
    or do you draw battle lines?
    Do you weave myths,
    or write comedic shit?

    Pick a lane! Pick a lane!
    Repeated, screaming in my brain—
    giving readers whiplash
    with how fast, I switch lanes—
    it’s a pain in the neck,
    creativity, hard to keep in check.

    Journey into the Hexverse

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

  • Iron Sharpens Iron | A Meta-Poem About Creative Conflict & the Many Voices Within by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some poems come from a single voice.

    This one comes from the argument.

    Iron Sharpens Iron is about what happens when every version of my creative mind sits down at the same table: the gothic romantic, the absurdist comic, the mythmaker, the battle-poet, the joke creator, and whatever other voice decides to kick the door open halfway through a line.

    The notebook becomes the sparring ring. One thought throws a punch, another throws a punchline, and sometimes Batman apparently gets involved.

    I don’t always plan where the thread is going. Sometimes I just follow it until the poem lands somewhere that makes sense.

    Maybe that’s the point.

    I don’t need to silence the contradictions. I need them to sharpen each other.

    — Rowan Evans

    A poet surrounded by multiple shadowy versions of themselves representing gothic romance, humor, mythology, and battle poetry, all connected by glowing strands of ink.
    I don’t silence the voices in my head. I let them sharpen each other.

    Iron Sharpens Iron
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I sit by myself—
    alone in body,
    crowded in mind—
    it’s a constant battle of wits,
    moon-fed goth kid
    versus the battle-poet
    turning pens to WMDs.

    The notebook—
    just a test site,
    where I drop bombs.
    It’s constant—
    the scream of the alarms.

    I write so much
    because my mind
    fights too much—
    a gothic romantic,
    an absurdist comic—
    opinions, opinions,
    too many opinions—
    constant contradictions.

    Is this a joke?

    Are the emotions sincere?

    What the fuck— (Batman!)
    is that reference doing here?

    That’s just how my mind is sometimes—
    I write a line and follow it, (Stalker.)
    I don’t plan it—I just follow the thread,
    guide the ship and land it.
    But sometimes I get lost—
    I’ll orbit the planet,
    or drift in my dreams—
    and they say to make the dreams work,
    it takes team work—
    well, I became my own team,
    every version of me.

    Gothic romantic, absurdist comic,
    mythmaker, joke creator
    and professional hater— (Jokes. Love ya!)
    a battle-poet raised on battle rappers
    and comedians—
    how I learned to land a punchline,
    can’t fight with my fists—
    but can fight with my mind,
    and I do it all the time—
    with myself, I spar,
    iron sharpens iron, after all.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Blindfolded & Still Winning]
    A playful battle-poetry freestyle about shutting off the inner editor, letting instinct take over, and discovering that sometimes the pen writes best when you stop watching it.

    [Literarily Speaking]
    They think silence means weakness. They should probably have paid more attention to the pen. Literarily Speaking turns gothic imagery, raven feathers, rose-petal ink, and absurd fictional geography into a playful battle-poetry flex about dismantling your enemies with words instead of hate.

    [The Playground]
    What happens when mythology stops being something to hide behind and becomes architecture for the imagination? The Playground (Language, Metaphors and More) explores Rowan Evans’s relationship with language, symbolism, metaphor, humor, and twenty-three years of turning the page into a place where anything can happen.

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

  • Blindfolded & Still Winning | A Playful Battle Poem About Instinct & Confidence by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes the easiest way to stop overthinking the poem is to stop looking at it.

    Blindfolded & Still Winning came from that impulse: cover the eyes, let the pen move, and see what the mind throws onto the page. The anger gets folded into jokes, the jokes get stitched into rhythm, and suddenly what could have been a rant turns into a little battle-rap playground.

    The blindfold isn’t a handicap here.

    It’s permission to trust the instinct.

    And apparently, even without looking, the pen still thinks it knows how to win.

    — Rowan Evans

    A blindfolded poet writes confidently at a desk as pages and glowing lines of ink swirl around them, symbolizing instinctive creative writing.
    Cover the eyes. Let the pen drive. See what happens.

    Blindfolded & Still Winning
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m sick and tired
    of watching what I say—
    so I cover my eyes
    when I write—
    because even I like
    to be surprised
    by my mind, sometimes.

    So today I’ll be blind—
    folded the anger with my jokes,
    then mixed them in
    to the rhythm and rhyme—
    I’ll get over it on my own time.

    (Really, I’m over it already.)

    Pen like a switch blade,
    words so sharp, I filet men—
    yawn, you’re boring me.
    Took you five hours
    to write five lines—
    took me five minutes
    to write ten times—
    the rhymes,
    set ups and punchlines.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Literarily Speaking]
    They think silence means weakness. They should probably have paid more attention to the pen. Literarily Speaking turns gothic imagery, raven feathers, rose-petal ink, and absurd fictional geography into a playful battle-poetry flex about dismantling your enemies with words instead of hate.

    [The Playground]
    What happens when mythology stops being something to hide behind and becomes architecture for the imagination? The Playground (Language, Metaphors and More) explores Rowan Evans’s relationship with language, symbolism, metaphor, humor, and twenty-three years of turning the page into a place where anything can happen.

    [New God with a Pen]
    A battle-poet power fantasy where Superman’s rage, Batman’s fear, Darkseid’s cosmic authority, and the Anti-Life Equation collide with rhyme, turning an ordinary pen into something worthy of New God status.

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

  • Literarily Speaking | A Darkly Humorous Battle Poem About the Power of Words by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes the quiet person isn’t harmless.

    Sometimes they’re just taking notes.

    Literarily Speaking plays with the old assumption that silence means weakness—and then turns that assumption into a playground for metaphor, gothic imagery, and wordplay. The speaker doesn’t need fists, fury, or actual hatred to make an impact. A pen, a raven feather, a few rose petals, and a sufficiently sharp vocabulary will do just fine.

    The mythology of Wish-A-Motherfucker Wood and the Fuck Around Valley is deliberately ridiculous, because this piece knows exactly what it is doing: dressing poetic confidence up like a threat before revealing that the real damage is entirely literary.

    The point isn’t to hate harder.

    It’s to write sharper.

    Literarily speaking.

    — Rowan Evans

    A calm poet writes with a raven-feather quill and crimson rose-petal ink at a gothic desk surrounded by ravens and dark roses.
    I don’t need hate to eviscerate you—literarily speaking.

    Literarily Speaking
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    They think because I’m quiet,
    I’m an easy target—
    so they talk a lot,
    and they talk
    like they forgot
    where I stood,
    bitch, I came up in the—
    Wish-A-Motherfucker Wood.
    Nestled in the Fuck Around valley,
    come around here—you’ll Find Out.

    So I pen my threats
    in fresh crimson—
    ink made from rose petals,
    quill from raven feather—
    that’s why I write the way I do—
    because I know Unkindness well.
    I know the world can be cruel,
    but being full of hate isn’t cool—

    and that’s why
    I write the way I do—
    I don’t need hate
    to eviscerate you…

    literarily speaking…

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [The Playground]
    What happens when mythology stops being something to hide behind and becomes architecture for the imagination? The Playground (Language, Metaphors and More) explores Rowan Evans’s relationship with language, symbolism, metaphor, humor, and twenty-three years of turning the page into a place where anything can happen.

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

  • It’s Almost Like I Know What I’m Doing | A Self-Aware Poetry & Writing Journey by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    It’s Almost Like I Know What I’m Doing is a little self-audit that turns into a flex before I can stop it.

    I started by wondering whether my writing had become too much swagger and not enough emotion—whether the ink was simply running free without anything underneath it. Then I remembered how long I’ve been doing this, where some of that rhythm came from, and why I learned to turn anger into cadence and pain into something that could make me laugh.

    Maybe the swagger isn’t the absence of emotion.

    Maybe it’s one of the ways I’ve learned to carry it.

    This piece is me looking at the machinery behind my own writing and realizing that the things I sometimes question—rhythm, rhyme, comedy, aggression, timing, and instinct—aren’t accidents anymore.

    They’re tools.

    And apparently, after all these years, I might actually know how to use them.

    — Rowan Evans

    A confident poet writing at a desk surrounded by years of notebooks as flowing ink becomes rhythm, emotion, and creative energy.
    After twenty-three years of shaping ink, maybe the swagger isn’t accidental.

    It’s Almost Like I Know What I’m Doing
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    It’s like my writing has become
    all swagger, no emotion—
    it’s like the ink is coastin’,
    like the edge of the sea—
    but there’s no tide to guide me.
    So my lines run free—
    sometimes that’s not a problem for me,
    other times it feels like it ends tragically,
    like I’m going to say some shit,
    and make people mad at me—
    but if it happens naturally,
    I’ll take the consequences, happily.

    When the switch flips
    and my mind shifts—
    I can feel the slow drip,
    emotions begin to slip
    and my thoughts trip—
    trip up and stumble,
    drop the ball—fumble.
    It’s only round one,
    get ready to rumble—
    this is a battle,
    a bit more than a scuffle,
    slide my feet—shuffle.

    I’ve got twenty-nine years
    putting marks on paper—
    twenty-three years
    as a real ink shaper—

    I’ve poured my heart into this,
    my whole life has been ink-stained—
    spent years translating pain,
    nearly thirty years,
    laying my rage on the page—

    it started early—
    I was maybe nine or ten,
    getting bullied back then.
    I hated the bullies, hated school too.
    Hated the fact they thought
    they were too cool—
    too small to fight back,
    but I could write—
    so I could bite back.
    Used my ink to launch an attack,
    went full scale—

    you see,
    I cut my teeth on bars
    and that’s why—
    my lines go hard.

    I started at nine
    learning the legends rhymes—
    y’all gon’ make me lose my mind,
    until even I’m asking
    what My Name Is…

    Never mind. False alarm.

    I found it—

    it was inside rhyming,
    learning comedic timing—
    yeah, I took the rage
    and taught it how
    to joke its way
    across the page—
    whether happy or in pain.

    All it changed is
    how I worded some things,
    it’s almost like—

    I know what I’m doing.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [New God With a Pen]
    A battle-poet power fantasy where Superman’s rage, Batman’s fear, Darkseid’s cosmic authority, and the Anti-Life Equation collide with rhyme, turning an ordinary pen into something worthy of New God status.

    [Lessons Without Kindness]
    A reflection on learning self-respect from a relationship that changed—the lessons hidden in manipulation, silence, and loss, and the realization that you don’t have to shrink yourself to make someone else feel tall.

    [The Sacred Timeline]
    From childhood stories about Dragon Ball Z, Power Rangers, and Pokémon to gothic cathedrals, ravens, roses, identity, healing, and experimentation, The Sacred Timeline traces how Rowan Evans’s relationship with the pen evolved across thirty-six years—and how the ink remained while the writer kept changing.

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

  • New God With a Pen (Red Rage, Yellow Fear) | A DC-Inspired Battle Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    New God With a Pen (Red Rage, Yellow Fear) is me taking the battle-poet persona and throwing it directly into the DC Universe.

    The premise is simple: if I’m going to write like my pen has powers, why stop at superheroes? Give me Superman’s rage, Batman’s fear, Darkseid’s cosmic scale, and an Anti-Life Equation made entirely of rhyme—and suddenly the notebook becomes its own comic-book universe.

    The important part is that the destruction stays where it belongs: on the page.

    This is playful bravado, exaggerated power-scaling, and a little comic-book absurdity wrapped around the idea that a pen can make a poet feel damn near omnipotent.

    Apparently, today my ink wanted to become a New God.

    — Rowan Evans

    A poet holding a glowing pen amid red rage and yellow fear energy beneath a towering cosmic comic-book figure.
    The pen got cosmic. The rhyme scheme got dangerous. The notebook became a universe.

    New God With a Pen (Red Rage, Yellow Fear)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I am Metropolis in the shadows,
    and Gotham in the light—
    that might feel backwards,
    but it’s not—

    I’m Superman with a red ring when I write,
    unstoppable and full of rage—
    but I keep the rage contained to the page,
    so while I might slaughter you—
    you’ll be both victim and witness.
    Because you’ll be able to read it too,
    like headline news, front page—

    and if you think that’s bad, no dear—
    I’m Yellow Lantern Batman,
    I rule the shadows and control fear.
    I’ll write lines so terrifying,
    they make you want to disappear—
    and so you know, I deleted four lines…

    there were more disses here.

    I write lines so tight with rhymes
    that hit so hard, even Darkseid
    looks at me like a New God now.
    I put the Anti-Life Equation
    in my lines, that’s why my rhymes
    have the power to control minds.

    You can’t compete with me.
    I’ve beaten you completely.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [The Sacred Timeline]
    From childhood stories about Dragon Ball Z, Power Rangers, and Pokémon to gothic cathedrals, ravens, roses, identity, healing, and experimentation, The Sacred Timeline traces how Rowan Evans’s relationship with the pen evolved across thirty-six years—and how the ink remained while the writer kept changing.

    [The Metaphor Machine]
    A poem that takes apart its own machinery as it runs—breaking lines, breaking thoughts, and following metaphors from moonlight to tides, oceans, shorelines, and city streets.

    [Welcome to the Hexverse]
    Step into the Hexverse—a poetic world where mythmaking, humor, rage, creativity, and confession collide, and darkness becomes something that can be reshaped into art.

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

  • Draggin’ (Ignis) | A Playful Battle Poetry Flex by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There are poems where I sit down with a very serious idea and carefully shape every word.

    This isn’t one of those poems.

    Draggin’ (Ignis) is me letting the pen run loose, throwing references at the page, flexing a little, and then immediately making fun of myself for doing it. It’s playful bravado with a gothic streak, a little battle-rap energy, and absolutely no intention of pretending I’m cooler than I am.

    Twenty-three years of writing will do strange things to a poet.

    Apparently, it makes them compare themselves to dragons, superheroes, and Pokémon-level fire hazards.

    Enjoy the chaos.

    — Rowan Evans

    A playful poet stands with a fountain pen as black ink transforms into a mischievous dragon surrounded by flames, ice, and motion.
    Twenty-three years of writing and this is what the pen decided to do with all that experience.

    Draggin’ (Ignis)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Twenty-three years, I’ve been doing this
    with craft in my veins and trauma in my brain—
    I’ve really been through some shit.
    Maybe that’s why I write so ruthless—
    if I spit a diss, it’d be ignis—I’d be draggin’ you,
    but I’m nice, so I’m a dragon like Toothless.
    This is stupid, silly, dumb—
    I can’t take me serious, and this is how come.

    Yeah, these might be jokes—
    but I’m cold, Bobby Drake,
    so shut your mouth
    before I turn your girl into a—

    Dragon Rider…

    That kind of killed the rhyme,
    that’s fine—

    here’s a few more lines…

    I’m too quick-witted—

    pen faster than Flash,
    I’m too quick wit’ it
    when I write lines
    to silence critics.

    I’ve been writing for years,
    double digits—
    two followed by the number
    that comes next—
    I’m not even trying to flex,
    this is just me writing facts.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter)]
    A playful battle-poetry piece where confidence, wordplay, pop-culture references, and a sharp pen collide. Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter) turns verbal sparring into a ridiculous little poetry showdown.

    [Kaio-ken/Zenkai]
    Two Dragon Ball-inspired battle poems about creative power, survival, and coming back stronger. Kaio-ken with a Pen brings the attack, while Zenkai (Stronger Now) delivers the aftermath: push me to the edge, and I’ll return stronger than before.

    [Don’t Push Me]
    A playful battle-poetry piece about turning insults into punchlines, standing your ground, and refusing to be intimidated. Don’t Push Me mixes swagger, humor, rhyme, and Rowan Evans’ signature self-aware interruptions.

    [B.S.T.F.U.]
    A playful battle-poetry exercise packed with insults, internal rhymes, punchlines, wordplay, and literary swagger. B.S.T.F.U. is Rowan Evans flexing the verbal muscles—not calling out anyone in particular.

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

  • Give Me (I’ll Give) | A Playful Confidence Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some poems ask for your attention.

    This one asks for a challenge.

    Give me something to work with, and I’ll turn it into a line. A joke. A rhyme. A little trouble.

    That’s the game.

    — Rowan Evans

    A fountain pen and open notebook surrounded by surreal images of a microphone, ghost, lyric sheet, and toast.
    Give me something to work with. I’ll give you a poem.

    Give Me (I’ll Give)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Give me a beat,
    I’ll give you a bar.
    Give me a graveyard,
    I’ll give you a ghost.
    Give me a lyric,
    I’ll give you a joke.
    Give me a drink,
    I’ll give you a toast.

    You don’t have to say it—
    I know, I write better than most.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Nobody² (No Body)]
    A minimalist poem playing with the double meaning of “nobody”—exploring loneliness, isolation, absence, and the feeling of becoming a ghost within your own life.

    [Rose & Ruin]
    Two minimalist poems exploring the opposing forces within creativity: the thoughts we cultivate into something beautiful and the darker thoughts we transform before they have a chance to decay.

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

  • Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter) | A Funny Pop Culture Poetry Diss by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes I sit down with a pen and decide I’m going to behave.

    That usually lasts about three lines.

    Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter) is one of those pieces where the writing gets a little cocky, the jokes start stacking up, and the references begin sneaking through the cracks. It’s playful, competitive, and intentionally ridiculous in places.

    So consider this a little verbal sparring session.

    No hard feelings.

    Probably.

    — Rowan Evans

    A confident poet holds a fountain pen like a microphone on a surreal stage surrounded by glowing bars made of ink and handwritten lines.
    The meet-and-greet is over. The pen has entered the battle.

    Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Oh, look at you—
    look what you can do
    with a pen—it’s cute,
    but you can’t win—
    yet you think you can?

    Damn, man—
    what was your plan?
    How were you going
    to get the best of me?

    Get in line—
    get ready for the meet and greet,
    I’ll sign your autograph,
    cause I—

    I know I’m your Idol,
    American,
    shape the ink like clay,
    ’til it’s achin’—
    I’m Stronger now,
    and not Because Of You,
    so listen quick, remember bitch,
    you’ll want to remember where you were at
    during A Moment Like This—

    that was three straight references
    to Clarkson, Kelly—
    sit down, talk show, telly.
    It’s just jokes bitch, I can get silly—
    that’s just how the mind
    Behind These Hazel Eyes works—

    jerks.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Conductor]
    A dark, intimate poem about the strange power words can have over the reader—where rhythm, rhyme, and line breaks become instruments capable of reaching beyond the page.

    [Kaio-ken/Zenkai]
    Two Dragon Ball-inspired battle poems about creative power, survival, and coming back stronger. Kaio-ken with a Pen brings the attack, while Zenkai (Stronger Now) delivers the aftermath: push me to the edge, and I’ll return stronger than before.

    [Don’t Push Me]
    A playful battle-poetry piece about turning insults into punchlines, standing your ground, and refusing to be intimidated. Don’t Push Me mixes swagger, humor, rhyme, and Rowan Evans’ signature self-aware interruptions.

    [B.S.T.F.U.]
    A playful battle-poetry exercise packed with insults, internal rhymes, punchlines, wordplay, and literary swagger. B.S.T.F.U. is Rowan Evans flexing the verbal muscles—not calling out anyone in particular.

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