Tag: curiosity

  • Author’s Note

    Sometimes a poem doesn’t need to be profound.

    Sometimes it just needs to say, “Please fucking listen.”

    No Stupid Questions came from that particular kind of frustration—the kind that happens when someone asks something that has already been answered, interrupts the flow of a conversation, or throws a question into the room without stopping to consider whether the information they want is already sitting right in front of them.

    The old saying goes, “There are no stupid questions.”

    I don’t completely agree.

    Questions aren’t inherently stupid. Curiosity is valuable, and asking for clarification is often exactly what we should do. But there is a difference between genuinely wanting to understand something and simply asking whatever crosses your mind without listening to what was already said.

    This poem is intentionally blunt because the frustration is blunt.

    It’s conversational, a little sarcastic, and unapologetically irritated. There are times when I want my poetry to dress an idea in metaphor and symbolism. Other times, I just want to point at the problem and say exactly what I mean.

    No metaphor.

    No elaborate mythology.

    No moon, tide, raven, or rose to hide behind.

    Just:

    You already got your answer.

    Listen.

    Rowan Evans

    P.S. – The end of this piece is entirely a joke.


    A writer at a desk surrounded by chaotic question marks while a clear answer sits untouched in an open notebook.

    No Stupid Questions
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    You know—

    the person that said,
    “there’s no such thing
    as a stupid question,”—

    probably asked a lot
    of stupid questions,
    just like you—

    Not trying to be rude
    or give attitude—

    but dude,
    you asked that question
    out of the blue.

    (And it was dumb,
    it was a stupid question…
    I had to break the flow to tell you,
    you asked a stupid question.)

    I already told you—

    I already answered back,
    if you need the information
    then listen—I already gave you that.

    Do you even think
    before you speak,
    or do you just
    let your thoughts fly?

    You don’t have to ask
    every question
    that comes to mind.

    I don’t care
    if you are a child.


    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [You Are Perfect]
    A gentle reminder that your worth isn’t determined by your flaws or by the opinions of others. You Are Perfect is a poem about resilience, self-acceptance, and standing tall even when the world tries to make you feel small.

    [Human Rorschach]
    Sometimes we’re less a fixed person than an inkblot—our meaning changing with every set of eyes that looks at us. Human Rorschach explores perception, identity, and the ways our own experiences shape what we believe we see in others.

    [A Rose in the Ashes]
    Lost within a forest where every leaf becomes a memory, the speaker follows darkness instead of fleeing from it, discovering that healing isn’t found at the end of the tunnel—but in facing the past long enough to notice a single rose blooming through the ashes.

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

  • Author’s Note

    People often ask what I find attractive.

    The answer has never been particularly complicated.

    I’ve always been fascinated by minds.

    Not intelligence in the competitive sense. Not who can quote the most books or win the most arguments.

    I mean curiosity.

    The way someone thinks.

    The stories they tell without realizing they’re telling them.

    The dreams they quietly carry.

    The questions that keep them awake at night.

    I’ve found that the most beautiful parts of a person usually reveal themselves in conversation.

    Not during introductions.

    Not through appearances.

    But somewhere between laughter, honesty, and those moments when someone forgets they’re trying to impress you.

    That’s when people become themselves.

    I’ve always believed there are pieces of us that only exist in dialogue. Parts that don’t emerge until someone asks the right question, or listens long enough for the answer to arrive.

    Maybe that’s why I chose the word lore.

    History is a record of what happened.

    Lore is what those moments became.

    It’s the mythology of a person—the stories, beliefs, fears, dreams, and experiences that shape how they move through the world.

    That’s what I want to know.

    Not because I need to solve anyone.

    Because understanding another person’s inner world feels like one of the greatest privileges we can offer each other.

    This poem isn’t really about romance.

    It’s about attention.

    About listening deeply enough that another person feels safe becoming fully known.

    For me, that’s where intimacy has always begun.

    Rowan Evans


    Two people sharing a thoughtful conversation as glowing words and constellations symbolize a deep mental connection.
    “Some people fall for a smile. Others fall for the mind behind it.”

    Where Intimacy Begins
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    They may want a body,
    but I want a mind—
    they are fine with the surface,
    I want the depths that you hide.
    It’s in conversation you find
    the light hidden inside.

    They see beauty in a face,
    I see beauty in the things you say
    and the way language takes shape.
    I see beauty in the thoughts,
    the dreams, the plans.

    You see, it’s all about
    the mental connection for me.
    I want to touch your mind,
    see what stories I’ll find—
    the lore that I’ll learn.

    And when you speak, I’ll listen—
    you should always feel heard.

    I want the stories
    you never say out loud,
    the half-formed dreams you keep
    tucked beneath your ribs.

    There are pieces of you
    that only appear in conversation.
    So I’ll hold your thoughts gently,
    the way others hold hands.

    Because I’ve learned beauty
    lives deeper than skin,
    the way a thought can light a room
    inside me—

    how a single sentence
    can feel like a door unlocking.

    I’ll meet you
    where your mind wanders.
    I’ll be the quiet
    that lets your truth come forward.

    I’ll fall for the way you think
    before anything else,
    because the mind—

    is where intimacy begins.


    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [What I’m Trying to Say]
    What begins as an exaggerated promise of love slowly strips itself back until only one simple truth remains: real devotion isn’t found in grand gestures—it’s found in consistently showing up.

    [I’d Rather Try]
    Anyone can promise they’d die for someone. But love isn’t built on one dramatic moment—it’s built on showing up, trying again tomorrow, and proving your words through consistent action.

    [The Language Her Soul Speaks]
    What if love isn’t about being understood, but learning to understand someone else? “The Language Her Soul Speaks” is a free verse poem about intimacy, communication, curiosity, and the desire to know another person beyond the limits of language.

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