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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: battle rap poetry

  • Walk-A-Block in Flames | A Funny Poem About Self-Doubt & Inner Critics

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes the loudest hater in the room is the one you brought with you.

    Walk-A-Block in Flames started with the idea of imaginary critics—the voices that somehow manage to find fault with everything you do, even when nobody else is actually saying a damn thing. Naturally, my brain decided the appropriate response was to turn that internal conflict into a ridiculous walk around the block, throw in some wordplay, and see how many times I could make the joke work before the poem eventually turned the joke back on me.

    Because beneath all the flames, bravado, and fake enemies, there’s a much simpler realization:

    Sometimes the person I’m arguing with is me.

    And honestly?

    That’s probably the funniest part.

    — Rowan Evans

    A poet walks around a city block engulfed in symbolic flames while shadowy figures representing imaginary haters follow behind.
    Plot twist: the haters were imaginary, and unfortunately, they had my voice.

    Walk-A-Block in Flames
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    They tell me,
    these imaginary haters,
    that I’ve fuckin’ created—
    they live inside my head,
    feeding on my self-doubt—
    obsessed with burning the self-down.

    They make me take a walk,
    a walk around a block
    and it’s fucking hot—
    I guess you could say,
    these imaginary haters made me,
    Waka Flocka Flame.

    Wait—

    I meant to say—
    these haters made me
    Walk-A-Block In Flames.

    Honestly though,
    I don’t know
    what the fuck
    they hate me for—

    Is it because my wrist froze?
    Nope, I’m broke—
    Because I’m the best to ever do it?
    Nope, that’s a joke—

    Is it because they say
    the things I think about me?
    Couldn’t be—
    because I think I’m great,
    and these haters are fake.

    I mean literally fake,
    figments—
    they don’t exist,
    it’s just me in this bitch.

    Hi, it’s me…

    I’m the fuckin’ problem.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    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]

  • 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]

  • 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]

  • B.S.T.F.U. | A Battle-Poetry Flex by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    B.S.T.F.U. is me flexing.

    There isn’t a real target hiding behind this poem, no specific person I’m trying to call out, and no secret literary feud happening behind the scenes. I wrote this because sometimes I like to take the battle-poet side of my voice out for a walk and see what it can do.

    This piece is deliberately over-the-top. It’s swagger, insults, wordplay, internal rhyme, punchlines, and a little bit of absurdity thrown into the blender. The goal wasn’t to make a serious accusation—it was to practice the mechanics of verbal combat while having fun with the language.

    And honestly, that’s part of why I love writing: sometimes I want to write something vulnerable, sometimes I want to build mythology, sometimes I want to make conspiracy theories about fish, and sometimes I just want to look at the imaginary competition and say:

    Where are you on the ladder?

    Below me.

    It’s not that serious.

    But the pen game?

    That part is serious.

    — Rowan Evans

    A confident poet stands in a dark battle-poetry arena holding a fountain pen beside a towering ladder symbolizing literary skill.
    No target. No feud. Just a poet flexing the pen and climbing the imaginary ladder.

    B.S.T.F.U.
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Bitch, shut the fuck up—
    what’chu talkin’ about?

    Don’t think I haven’t heard—
    how you’re runnin’ your mouth.

    You thought ’cause I don’t talk a lot,
    I was open season, you should be scared—
    let me give you a reason, I’m a big dog—
    all bite, no bark and a license to write still.

    I write with precision, I write kills—

    you’re not a writer,
    you’re the one who steals—

    plagiarizing those with skill.

    It’s stolen lines
    and stolen rhymes—
    the only thing keeping you
    holding on to borrowed time—

    it’s not yours—

    it’s whoever writes for you.

    It’s me and it’s them—
    it’s the wielders of the pen.
    Those with skill,
    with lines that kill
    and lines that heal—

    we know—

    you don’t write, bitch—
    be so for real.

    You don’t know what a metaphor is—

    and a stanza?
    You hear that and you’re like—
    isn’t his first name Tony?

    Bitch, you’re a phony…

    if you were
    to try and write—
    baloney.

    All that to ask—

    when it comes
    to writing—
    where are you
    on the ladder?

    Below me.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Across the Page-cific]
    A playful, autobiographical journey through the strange places poetry can take me—from sandwich heartbreak and pasta diss poems to gothic monsters, mythology, ravens, ghosts, and storms across the page. Beneath the absurdity is something deeply personal: the realization that writing gave me a way to rebuild myself, piece by piece.

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