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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: fear of vulnerability

  • What I Want to Say – A Poem About Love, Fear, and Words Left Unspoken

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There are things that feel simple in your head… until you try to say them out loud.

    This piece comes from that moment right before a confession—when the words are clear, the meaning is obvious, but the weight behind them makes it harder to speak.

    Sometimes it’s not about not knowing what to say.

    It’s about knowing exactly what it means if you do.

    And not being sure you’re ready for what comes after.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person sitting in low light hesitating to speak, symbolizing unspoken emotions and vulnerability.
    Some words stay locked inside—not because we don’t feel them, but because we know what they could change.

    What I Want to Say
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I have so much
    that I want to say,
    but I don’t know how.

    For some reason—
    I always chicken out.

    I want to say
    1-4-3—decoded.
    But that’s too
    loaded.

    So I say it in
    actions instead,
    but the words stay hidden—
    locked in my head.

    I rehearse the lines
    a thousand times,
    but when the moment comes,
    I swallow them whole—

    afraid that saying them
    might change everything
    I’m scared to lose.

    But the fear pulls me away—
    I’m scared of becoming
    just another disappointment,
    another regret.

    [Not Her—The Echoes]
    A poem about learning the difference between someone who is safe—and the echoes of those who weren’t.

    [The Quiet Inside the Noise]
    What happens when a restless mind finally quiets—not by silence, but by focusing on one person? The Quiet Inside the Noise explores love, fixation, and finding calm in connection.

    [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.

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

  • 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]

  • 1-4-3 (Tongue Tied) – A Poem About Love, Fear, and Unspoken Words

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece is about the space between feeling something and being able to say it.

    For some people, expression comes naturally.
    For others, it’s learned to be dangerous.
    Words get tied to consequences–
    misunderstanding, rejection, being seen in ways that don’t feel safe.

    So instead of speaking, you hold it in.
    You rehearse it internally.
    You let it echo.

    1-4-3 has always been a simple code–
    something that turns something heavy into something easier to carry.

    But even then, saying it isn’t always easy.

    Sometimes the hardest words to speak
    are the ones you feel the most.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person sitting in a dim room holding back words with faint glowing 1-4-3 numbers symbolizing unspoken love.
    Some words echo louder in silence than they ever could out loud.

    1-4-3 (Tongue Tied)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I bite my tongue,
    trying to stop myself.
    I have so much
    I want to say.

    I try not to speak.

    In the past
    words have got me
    in trouble—

    because I’d say
    what I feel.

    But life taught me—
    never let them
    see you weak.

    So I don’t speak.

    I keep the words
    held in my cheeks,
    as I stumble back
    into retreat.

    I always leave
    a piece of me behind—

    hoping
    I’d have to return to find it,
    to become whole again.

    It hasn’t happened yet.

    At least,
    that’s what I tell myself.

    But I know better—
    I left a piece of me
    and went back to collect.

    And still,
    I choke on the words
    I try to say.

    It’s like I’m tongue-tied.

    Open mouth.
    Nothing comes out.

    I just want to say—

    I—

    lost myself
    trying to claw
    my way out of this hell.

    Struggling to speak—
    the words in my head,
    repeat:

    1-4-3…
    1-4-3…

    And I hope,
    you feel the same
    about me.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [1-4-3]
    A poem about love that isn’t rooted in need, but in choice. About finding safety not as a cage, but as a place where fear finally stops running—and stays.

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

  • To Whom It May Concern – A Poem About Vulnerability and Self-Sabotage

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some feelings don’t arrive gently.

    They sit on the tip of your tongue, heavy and persistent, asking to be spoken–but never quite feeling safe enough to say out loud. So they get rewritten, softened, disguised. Butterflies, instead of something darker. Something truer.

    This piece is about that tension–the instinct to hide, even when you want to be seen. The way vulnerability can feel less like openness and more like risk.

    Sometimes we disappear not because we don’t care…
    but because we care too much.

    And still–there’s a part of us that keeps trying to come back.

    — Rowan Evans

    A person sitting alone at a desk in dim light, surrounded by crumpled papers, representing hidden emotions and vulnerability
    Some truths are easier to write than to say out loud.

    To Whom It May Concern…
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m writing this letter to spell out
    what I’ve been holding inside.
    I’m tired of hiding,
    behind wide eyes and
    white lies.
    Sick of saying butterflies…

    They are moths.

    They flit and flutter,
    light rumble
    in the stomach.

    Like the lanterns lit.

    I’ll admit,
    it makes me sick—
    the way this hits.
    The way it sits,
    on the tip of my tongue—
    your name.

    It’s become a sacred thing.

    And I care too much,
    so instincts kicked in—
    I disappeared again.
    Silently went within.

    I try and claw my way out.

    Sometimes I—
    don’t know why,
    I do the things I do.

    Self-sabotage sometimes.

    Clinging to anything
    to hide behind.
    To mask emotion,
    to keep me safe.
    Because—
    vulnerability,
    has not always been.

    But I will
    claw my way
    back again.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Weathered] (3/21)
    A deeply introspective poem about confronting fear, breaking patterns, and choosing to stand in the storm instead of running from it.

    [Same Room (Emotionally)] (3/22)
    Can you miss someone you’ve never met? This poem explores emotional connection beyond physical distance and what it means to truly feel seen.

    [No Parachute] (3/23)
    A poetic reflection on falling in love without hesitation—raw, uncertain, and without a safety net.

    [When I Started to Fall for You] (3/24)
    A lyrical exploration of love’s intensity—how connection grows, transforms, and reshapes the way we experience the world.

    [Bad Habit] (3/25)
    A powerful reflection on repetitive thought patterns, emotional loops, and the moment of realizing you’re stuck inside your own mind.

    [Same Sky] (3/26)
    A poetic meditation on longing, distance, and the quiet desire to share the same space—even when worlds apart.

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