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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: emotional growth

  • Lingering, Not Lost – A Poem About Mental Retreat and Choosing to Stay

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I’ve learned that when I care deeply, I sometimes pull back instead of leaning in. This piece is me noticing that reflex in real time – and choosing not to let it define me.

    Lingering isn’t the same as being lost. And retreating isn’t the same as running.

    — Rowan Evans

    Silhouette of a person standing at the edge of a quiet shoreline at dusk, symbolizing reflection and emotional retreat.
    Not lost. Just lingering — and choosing to return.

    Lingering, Not Lost (Mental Retreat)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I retreat—
    when my mind
    gets messy.
    I repeat—
    thoughts on loop,
    spinning, hula-hoop.

    Saying I’m fine,
    when I know I’m not—
    I slip deeper
    into my thoughts.
    I sit in the dark
    inside my mind,
    not even trying
    to find
    a way out.

    I’m not trapped,
    I’m lingering.
    Haunting
    my own mind.
    Fighting
    my own misconceptions.
    Twisting secrets
    into confessions.

    Every thought—
    You.
    Who keeps me
    tethered,
    gripping reality tight
    so I don’t slip
    and lose my mind
    tonight?
    You.

    And it’s nothing you do.
    It’s just you, being you.

    So this descent
    is never permanent,
    but it leaves cracks—
    I know it does.

    Damage that can’t be undone—
    Only repaired
    slowly,
    with patience.
    With care.
    With staying.

    So I’ll try—
    I’ll try and pull myself free
    from this mental retreat.

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

  • Tattooed Pages – A Poem About Hidden Love, Writing as Therapy & Learning to Say It Plain

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece is about writing as both armor and confession.

    For a long time, I’ve hidden what I feel inside metaphors, inside rhythm, inside lines that only certain people would recognize. Some secrets are meant for the page. Some are meant for one person.

    Every poem that sounds like longing isn’t accidental. It’s practice.

    Practice saying something plainly.

    — Rowan Evans

    Open notebook with handwritten poetry under warm desk lamp lighting.

    Tattooed Pages
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Every time I sit
    with eyes locked
    on a blank page—
    I feel like
    I’m in therapy again.

    And how does
    that make you feel?

    I don’t know,
    I get a little sad sometimes.
    Depression festers
    inside the thoughts
    in my mind,
    anxiety lingers
    twisting shadowed
    fingers around my spine.

    So I write—
    Pouring thoughts
    like shots; fragments,
    shattered glass
    scattered like my mind
    gets sometimes.

    So I write—
    ink across the page,
    like ink across the skin.
    Tattooed pages,
    holding whispered secrets
    and trembling confessions—
    sharing hard learned lessons.

    I write to share
    what you mean to me.
    But I never say your name
    in what I let them see.
    Instead, I hide the signs
    inside the lines—
    secrets hidden in plain sight.

    I’ve written conversations
    between us—
    real or made up,
    for them to guess
    and us to know.
    I write to show
    how much I—
    let you linger
    in my thoughts.

    You mean so much to me,
    and I just want you to know.
    But I’m afraid to say
    too much, so I let it slip
    in subtle secrets.
    Bit by bit, information drips—
    I love your voice,
    and the way you say my name.
    Having you in my life
    is worth more than fame.

    Your attitude?
    It’s perfection.
    Anyone complaining
    just has a skill issue.

    (…they’re a little bitch.)

    Maybe one day
    I’ll stop hiding
    behind metaphors
    and coded lines.

    But until then—
    know that every poem
    that sounds like longing
    is me
    learning how to say it plain.

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

  • Distant Shores | A Poem About Longing, Growth, and Becoming

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem came from a recurring dream and a familiar pull — the quiet urge to move toward something that feels meaningful, even if the destination isn’t fully defined yet. It isn’t about a place so much as the feeling of possibility, of momentum returning, of wanting to grow into someone worthy of the journey ahead.

    Some shores are literal.
    Some are emotional.
    Some only exist because someone made you believe they might.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure standing on a quiet shoreline at dawn, looking out toward distant waves and a glowing horizon.
    Some journeys begin long before you ever leave—when the shore starts calling you back to yourself.

    Distant Shores
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    It’s kind of wild how,
    you’ve been in my dreams
    for a while now.

    You’re always radiant as ever,
    you look like heaven—but better.
    You inspire every poem, word and letter,
    I write them with love, respect and care.
    If I could, I would always be there—

    I swear
    I will cross oceans,
    whether I catch a jet,
    swim or stowaway.
    I swear
    I will cross these waves,
    and we will walk the same shore
    some day.
    I swear—

    You make me, want to be
    a better me.
    To strive for more,
    instead of giving up
    like I had before.
    I had allowed myself
    to become trapped,
    inside the borders
    of my mind and
    country.

    You added fuel to a fire
    that had been silently burning.
    Right there, inside my chest.
    The embers smoldered in silence,
    until you, and the fire reignited—
    and now it roars.

    Once again, I dream of walking
    distant shores. But now…
    Now, I want them to be…

    Yours.

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

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Toward Somewhere I Can Breathe]
    A poem about feeling disconnected since fourteen, longing for somewhere that feels like home, and finally understanding that the journey isn’t about escape — it’s about alignment.

    [Disconnected Since Fourteen]
    A confessional poem about growing up disconnected—from place, from home, from belonging—and the quiet realization that the signal was never stable to begin with.

    [Still Tilting Elsewhere]
    A reflection on growing up with a compass that never pointed home—tracing the quiet rebellion of longing, the patience of dreams, and the feeling of always being angled toward somewhere else.