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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: depression poetry

  • Reading the Sky | A Poem About Depression, Healing, and Emotional Cycles

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    People sometimes talk about depression like it’s constant sadness.

    For me, it’s rarely that simple.

    Sometimes it’s pressure. Sometimes it’s exhaustion. Sometimes it’s numbness so quiet you don’t notice how deep you’ve sunk until something shifts and suddenly you can breathe again.

    That’s where this piece came from.

    Not from a dramatic breakthrough— just a morning where the weight felt lighter.

    And when you’ve carried storms inside yourself for long enough, even small moments of relief can feel almost unreal.

    But one of the hardest things to learn about living with depression is this:

    good days don’t erase bad ones, and bad days don’t erase good ones.

    The storm passing doesn’t mean it’ll never return.

    It means you survived it long enough to recognize clear skies when they arrive.

    That’s what Reading the Sky became about for me.

    Not curing the storm. Not defeating it.

    Just learning its patterns. Learning when the pressure shifts. Learning how to keep breathing through both the thunder and the quiet afterward.

    And maybe most importantly—

    allowing yourself to enjoy the clean air when it finally comes.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary person stands beneath clearing storm clouds as sunlight begins breaking through the sky after rain.
    Some victories are simply learning how to breathe again after the storm passes.

    Reading the Sky
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I woke today
    feeling different—

    like everything
    had changed,
    in an instant.

    Like the storm inside
    had finally gone silent.
    The winds had died,
    but I was alive.

    Smile on my face—
    for the first time,
    didn’t feel out of place.

    I could still see
    lightning on the edges
    of my perception—
    feel the rumble
    of thunder
    in my chest.

    It was softer now.

    This storm had passed,
    but another
    would surely come.

    It’s a cycle—

    and these things
    have a season.

    The storms?

    They come
    and go.

    That’ll never change.

    It’s learning
    to read the sky,
    to feel
    when the pressure shifts.

    Now let me say this plain…

    I’ve got depression.

    It lives in my chest,
    waiting to teach me lessons.

    It’s a storm
    I’ve weathered—

    more than
    any one person should.

    That’s what makes
    days like these—
    feel like the cleanest air
    I’ve ever breathed.

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

  • The Music Holds Me Upright – A Poem About Music, Mental Health, and Creativity

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I’ve realized over the years that music does more than inspire my writing.

    It organizes me.

    When my thoughts become too loud, too fragmented, too heavy to carry all at once, music gives them shape. Rhythm turns chaos into movement. Emotion becomes something I can follow instead of drown in.

    This piece is about that process.

    About the strange balance between instability and expression. Between wobbling and staying upright. Between feeling overwhelmed… and still creating anyway.

    The references throughout the poem aren’t random. They reflect the sounds and artists that genuinely help ground me—music that travels across borders the same way emotion does.

    Because sometimes healing doesn’t look like silence or peace.

    Sometimes it looks like headphones on, music loud, pen moving, and surviving one line at a time.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person writing poetry in a dimly lit room surrounded by music-inspired imagery and candlelight
    The ground may shake, but music, ink, and light still hold me upright.

    The Music Holds Me Upright
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I sit with them
    when thoughts get heavy—

    the weight
    I’ve struggled
    to carry.

    My spine bends,
    but never breaks.

    They call me weeble,
    the way I wobble
    but don’t fall down.

    Standing
    on shaking ground.

    Depression.
    Anxiety.

    The fire
    inside of me.

    Flames flicker—
    entranced—

    the pen
    begins
    to dance.

    When thoughts grow heavy
    with the weight
    I’ve struggled
    to carry—

    I write.

    Lights.
    Camera.
    Action.

    The page—
    a stage.

    The pen—
    a dancer.

    Weaving
    ink-stained paths
    across lined paper.

    Word after word,
    I write what hurts—

    but I need
    the music first.

    Soundtrack
    to the chaos,
    drifting through
    Thailand,
    Japan,
    Korea,
    and the Philippines.

    Soundscapes
    helping my emotions
    take shape.

    Painting images,
    arranging metaphors—

    the music becomes
    a tour guide
    inside my mind.

    Each stop
    refracting—

    light fractured,
    split.

    A new emotion
    coming into focus
    as the sound shifts.

    And still,
    I steady—

    not by force,
    but by rhythm.

    The ground may shake.
    The thoughts grow heavy.

    But the music,
    the ink,
    the light—

    they hold me upright
    every time.

    So let the scene roll.
    Let the soundtrack swell.

    I’ll take every fracture,
    every wobble,
    every spark—

    and turn it
    into something
    that moves.

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

  • No Prince for This Sleep – A Poem About Depression, Numbness, and Self-Awakening

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There’s a kind of numbness that doesn’t look dramatic from the outside. You’re awake, you respond, you move through the world — but something in you isn’t fully present. It’s not sleep, but it isn’t living either.

    This piece plays with the familiar idea that someone else can “wake” you. Fairy tales love that narrative. Real life doesn’t always follow it.

    Some states don’t break with a kiss.
    Some disconnection doesn’t lift just because someone cares.

    That doesn’t make it less real.
    It just means the way back has to start from the inside.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person lying awake in a dim room symbolizing emotional numbness and disconnection.
    Some states don’t break with a kiss—you have to find your own way back.

    No Prince for This Sleep
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m conscious—
    but not really here,
    lost in my mind,

    waiting for you
    to find me.

    It’s like I sleep
    even as I speak—
    but I’m not beautiful…

    So I’m
    sleeping ugly,

    waiting for somebody
    to come and love me—

    to wake me
    from this
    comatose apathy.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [Low Hum]
    Depression isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s a quiet presence—a low hum beneath everything. This poem explores that silence, and the small moments that help break through it.

    [Right Behind My Eyes]
    A raw and introspective poem exploring dissociation, emotional distance, and the grounding power of love. Right Behind My Eyes captures the feeling of watching your life from afar–and what keeps you from disappearing completely.

    [Not Crisis, Just Constant]
    Not all struggles are loud. Some live in the background—a constant presence you learn to carry. This poem explores anxiety, isolation, and the quiet tension between wanting connection and fearing it.

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

  • When the Fog Steps Back – A Poem About Clarity After Depression

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some moments don’t arrive loudly.

    There’s no breakthrough. No sudden shift that changes everything at once.

    Sometimes, it’s just a little space.

    A brief pause in the weight. A moment where your thoughts aren’t pressing in from every direction. Where things feel a little clearer–not fixed, not solved, just… easier to sit in.

    This piece comes from one of those moments.

    Not a transformation.

    Just a reminder that clarity still exists–and that when it shows up, even briefly, it’s worth acknowledging.

    — Rowan Evans

    Fog lifting from a quiet landscape as soft light reveals clarity and calm
    Clarity doesn’t always stay—but sometimes, it shows up just long enough to remind you it’s still there.

    When the Fog Steps Back
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    The weight has shifted,
    the fog has lifted—
    and I am feeling
    a little more free.

    The world looks sharper now,
    edges returning,
    colors remembering themselves.

    Maybe I’m remembering myself too.

    I’m not saying I’ve got my life together—
    just that the fog finally backed up
    and gave me a little space.

    I’ll take the win.

    Clarity doesn’t visit often,
    but when it does…

    I let it stay
    as long as it wants.

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

  • Schrödinger’s Depression | A Poem About Living in Emotional Limbo

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I wrote Schrödinger’s Depression during a period when my inner world felt suspended—when I was functioning on the surface while quietly unraveling underneath. I was fascinated by the idea of existing in two opposing states at once: alive enough to move through the world, but emotionally absent enough to feel untethered from it.

    The metaphor of Schrödinger’s cat gave me language for that limbo—the way depression can make you feel both present and unreachable, breathing yet hollow, seen yet unseen. This poem isn’t about resignation so much as endurance. Even inside the box, something persists.

    Revisiting it now, I recognize it as one of many moments  where my writing became a survival mechanism—naming the paradox instead of pretending it didn’t exist.

    A closed box in shadow with light leaking through cracks, symbolizing emotional limbo and depression
    Existing somewhere between alive and absent.

    Schrödinger’s Depression
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    In this box, I dwell, unseen, unheard,
    Both alive and dead, a paradox deferred.
    I am Schrödinger’s Cat, in my own dismay,
    Trapped in shadows, night and day.

    Alive in the motions, but dead in the soul,
    A hollow existence, a fractured whole.
    Every breath I take, a silent scream,
    Lost between the seams of a broken dream.

    My mind, a labyrinth, with no escape,
    A maze of despair, where hope fades to wraith.
    Eyes that see, yet fail to perceive,
    The vibrant colors of life, I cannot believe.

    Heart beats on, a hollow drum’s thrum,
    But inside, a void where emotions are numb.
    Walking through life, a ghost in disguise,
    A shell of a person, with lifeless eyes.

    I exist in this state, a cruel design,
    Both here and not, in a tangled line.
    Alive enough to feel the pain,
    Dead enough to know it’s all in vain.

    I am the paradox, the living dead,
    A prisoner of thoughts that fill my head.
    Drowning in an ocean of silent despair,
    Reaching for a lifeline that’s never there.

    Some days, the light filters through the cracks,
    A fleeting glimpse, but the darkness always tracks.
    It swallows me whole, a ravenous beast,
    Feasting on my soul, never ceasing, never least.

    Alive in the struggle, dead in the heart,
    A fractured existence, torn apart.
    Schrödinger’s Depression, a relentless tide,
    Dragging me under, where shadows abide.

    In this box, I am trapped, forever confined,
    Both living and dying, a state undefined.
    Yet somehow, I persist, in this duality’s snare,
    Schrödinger’s truth, in this life of despair.

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