←

Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: fear of being perceived

  • Before She Decides – A Poem About Fear of Connection and Emotional Conflict

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some conflicts don’t happen out loud.

    They happen internally–quiet, persistent, and often unresolved.

    This piece explores that split.

    The part of me that wants connection, that wants to be seen, that recognizes something real when it finds it.

    And the part that’s learned, over time, that being seen can come with consequences.

    That vulnerability can lead to loss.

    Neither voice is wrong.

    One is driven by hope.
    The other by memory.

    And most of the time, they don’t reach a clean resolution.

    They just… coexist.

    This poem sits in that space–
    between wanting to stay,
    and expecting to leave.

    — Rowan Evans

    A person sitting alone with two overlapping silhouettes representing internal conflict between connection and fear
    Some battles aren’t fought out loud—
    they happen in the silence between staying and leaving.

    Before She Decides
    Poetry By Rowan Evans

    I sit—
    split—
    like I’ve got two
    personalities inside.

    One that wants to be seen,
    and one that wants to hide.

    Sometimes—
    they talk
    to each other.

    “What are you afraid of?”

    Being perceived.
    You know
    it’s never been easy
    for me.

    “But you retreat too far.”

    I pull back
    as much as I need.
    Sometimes,
    space is safety.

    “That’s a lie you tell
    to isolate yourself
    from everyone else.”

    I’m not isolating—
    I’m protecting myself.

    “From what?
    The very thing
    we want.

    You’re not protecting,
    you’re disappearing.”

    Why can’t it be both?

    “Admit it—
    you’re scared.”

    Scared?
    I’m terrified.

    You know what I feel—
    you know the depths of it.
    You know it’s real.

    “Yes, it’s real.
    It’s new. It’s beautiful.
    It’s nothing to be scared of.”

    Nothing?
    Let me remind you
    of our history—

    the string of people
    that left
    because of our vulnerability.

    “But they’re not her.
    She hasn’t left—”

    Yet.

    What about when
    she gets sick of us?

    Because we’re too loud,
    too weird,
    too honest.

    “Maybe.

    But she’s still here.

    And for once—
    I don’t want to run
    before she decides.”

    For a moment—
    neither of them speaks.

    Just silence—
    stretched thin
    between wanting to stay
    and expecting to leave.

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

  • Not a Crisis, Just Constant – A Poem About Anxiety, Isolation, and Quiet Struggle

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There’s a version of struggling that doesn’t look like a crisis.

    It doesn’t interrupt your life in obvious ways. It doesn’t demand immediate attention. You can still function. Still respond. Still say you’re okay—and technically, you’re not lying.

    But something isn’t right.

    This piece comes from that space.

    From existing in the in-between—where things aren’t falling apart, but they’re not getting better either. Where anxiety becomes background noise, and depression shifts from something loud and consuming into something quieter… but constant.

    And maybe that’s what makes it harder.

    Because it’s easier to recognize a storm than it is to notice the air slowly changing around you.

    This poem isn’t about overcoming that feeling.

    It’s about naming it.

    And about acknowledging something else, too—

    that even in that space, even with all the noise, there can still be something—someone—that keeps you grounded.

    Not as a fix.

    Not as a solution.

    But as a reason to stay.

    — Rowan Evans

    A person sitting alone in a dim room surrounded by shadowy shapes representing anxiety and quiet mental struggle
    Not everything that hurts is loud—
    some things stay… and stay.

    Not a Crisis, Just Constant
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I sit—
    knees to chest,
    arms wrapped tight.

    I think I’m losing my mind—
    or just lost in it.

    I can feel again.

    But why am I
    still stuck here?

    It’s like I’m on the edge—

    wandering the border between
    social death
    and living.

    I can hear my thoughts talk—
    whispering secrets
    meant to stay hidden,
    embarrassing memories
    I wish I could forget.

    Maybe that’s why
    I can’t move.

    Because I’m stuck
    in the in-between.

    I want connection,
    but I want to be left alone—
    because isolation
    feels like home.

    And that scares me.

    I want you to see me.
    But the thought of being perceived?

    It terrifies me.

    It’s paralyzing.

    I just want to breathe.
    I just want to be—
    without my mind
    attacking me.

    I’m so sick of life
    with anxiety.
    It’s one of the voices
    inside of me.

    Depression was a monster—

    now it’s just
    a low hum.

    Not a crisis…

    but constant.

    I don’t know
    if this is healing—
    or just another version
    of being stuck.

    But through all the noise—
    all the voices—
    there’s still one
    that sounds like you.

    And somehow…

    that’s enough
    to keep me here.

    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.

    [The Wind Knew Your Name]
    A dream of relief turns into something unexpected—the return of thought, feeling, and movement. This poem explores the shift from silence to chaos, and the voice within it that leads the way forward.

    [Storm Systems]
    A powerful poem using weather as a metaphor for mental health, exploring emotional storms, numbness, and the people who keep us grounded.

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