←

Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: creative confidence

  • Ink in My Veins | A Poem About Writing, Identity & Creative Passion

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some people develop a hobby. Some people find a passion. And some of us apparently spend twenty-three years turning emotional damage into rhymes and developing an unhealthy relationship with metaphors.


    Ink in My Veins is a declaration of identity, a little creative defiance, and a reminder that confidence doesn’t always come from believing you’re the best. Sometimes it comes from knowing exactly how long you’ve been doing the work.


    At thirty-six, I’ve been writing for twenty-three years. I started at thirteen, long before I understood what poetry would become to me. What began as a way to process pain gradually became a language of its own—a way to understand myself, make sense of the world, and give shape to things I couldn’t always explain.


    There’s a little humor and swagger in this piece, and I’m not particularly interested in pretending otherwise. Sometimes the clowns need reminding that the person they’re provoking has been sharpening their words for a long time. But beneath the playful threats, pop-culture references, and rapid-fire wordplay is something much more personal: writing isn’t something I simply do. It’s woven into how I think, how I feel, and how I make sense of being alive.


    The ink-bender imagery is intentional. I’m not just putting words on a page; I’m bending language, shifting perspectives, changing direction, and occasionally throwing a little verbal magic into the mix. The future isn’t necessarily predictable, but I know the person holding the pen has spent years learning how to shape a thought into something meaningful.


    And that’s ultimately what this poem is about.


    Not fame. Not applause. Not proving something to people who have already made up their minds.


    Understanding.

    Twenty-three years later, the ink hasn’t run dry. The fire hasn’t gone out. And the thirteen-year-old who first picked up a pen is still somewhere in every line I write.

    Apparently, some stains are permanent. Thankfully, this is one I never wanted to wash away.


    — Rowan Evans

    A confident poet holds an ink-dripping fountain pen as swirling black ink and golden flames surround them in a dark, manuscript-filled writing studio.
    Twenty-three years of ink, fire, and finding meaning in the words. Some stains become part of who we are.

    Ink in My Veins
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    They say this isn’t fair,
    and I don’t know if you’re aware—
    but it’s no circus either, although,
    there is a high number of clowns ’round here—
    they say they’re joking, thinkin’ they’re Loki,
    unaware of who they are provoking.


    I’m the ink-bender,
    weaving ink into a hex—
    I’m writing the future,
    I know what comes next—
    still switch lanes so quick,
    it’d break necks.


    You’re probably thinking,
    “where’d they get this audacity?”


    It comes from 23 years at 36—
    ink-stained fingertips,
    muse’s name gracing lips,
    thousands of rhymes and little tricks—
    writing is not something I do,
    it’s everything I am—

    it’s not blood in these veins,
    it’s ink that stains, fed by the flames—
    a fire burning since thirteen,
    stoked by memories of pain—
    it’s understanding I chase, not fame.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    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]