Tag: Duality in poetry

  • Author’s Note

    Slim & Shady VIII: Exile & Echoes continues the saga of duality, shadow, and confession. Here, exile is not just banishment, but a state of self-imposed solitude, while echoes haunt the silences left behind. This piece stands alone yet deepens the mythology of the Slim & Shady cycle—a series where voice, identity, and ruin are woven together in haunting refrain.


    Illustration of dual figures in a ruined Gothic cathedral, symbolizing exile and echoes.
    Slim & Shady VIII: Exile & Echoes – Art inspired by Rowan Evans’ Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism.

    Slim & Shady VIII: Exile & Echoes
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Born in the U.S., but never felt at home,
    Pledge allegiance to a flag I’d rather burn to the bone.
    They scream “land of the free” while they’re locking every cage,
    Then pray with bloody hands like forgiveness kills the rage.

    I’m exiled in my own skin, echoes in my head,
    Dreaming streets I’ve never walked instead.
    Tokyo lights flicker in my sleep,
    Seoul hums a rhythm in the dark so deep,
    Manila whispers chaos, warm and alive—
    Places I’ve never touched, but where my soul survives.

    Meanwhile here? It’s Hell with a sales tax,
    Shootings every week, they just “thoughts and prayers” that.
    Call this a Christian nation—what a joke, what a sin,
    Jesus wouldn’t make it past the border to get in.

    I’m slim and shady, venom and ash,
    Words cut sharper than a stock market crash.
    They call me un-American? Fine, that’s true—
    If America’s a mirror, I’m breaking that view.

    Kids die in classrooms, but they clutch their guns tight,
    Screaming “freedom!” louder than a child’s last night.
    Ironic, ain’t it? They cheer war crimes abroad,
    But if you kneel during football, they call that flawed.

    Exile is my anthem, echoes my crown,
    Every verse I spit tears their idols down.
    I’m no patriot, just a pilgrim misplaced,
    Searching for a home I’ve never faced.

    Tokyo in dreams, I belong in the glow,
    Seoul’s heartbeat hums where I ache to go.
    Manila’s fire, Manila’s storm,
    That chaos feels more like home than this norm.

    Here, I’m a sinner with a halo cracked,
    But maybe that’s the only way the truth gets tracked.
    Saints wave flags, but I write in scars,
    Slim & Shady VIII—Exile & Echoes, spitting bars.


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    If you are interested in reading the whole series, find it here: The Slim & Shady Series