Author’s Note

Some moments are so intense, so ridiculously consuming, that your body forgets how to function, your words trip over themselves, and your thoughts scatter. Rewired (Flustered & Yours) comes from one of those moments—a truth too big for neat packaging, too raw for polish.

This poem is about what it feels like when a single person rewires your entire system. When one word, one message, one call can leave your chest racing, your lungs screaming, and your mind spinning. It’s messy. It’s unhinged. It’s completely, unapologetically honest.

Not every confession arrives clean. Not every feeling lands gracefully. Some of them stumble, fumble, and fall—just like the words in this poem. And yet, that’s the point. This is the closest I’ve come to capturing what it feels like to be utterly, irreversibly flustered by someone who matters more than anything.

Rewired (Flustered & Yours)
Poetry by Rowan Evans

One word—I’m shook. 
Shaken to the core. 
Bend me, break me, 
you’ll have me— 
begging for more. 
 
My tongue tied, 
knots that try and stop 
the words. 
They slip, tumble, 
fumble from my lips. 
Tripping over themselves, 
but I wouldn’t want to be— 
anywhere else. 
 
And it hurts a little, 
but I kind of like it though. 
I’m so— 
masochistic. 
In love with you, 
so sadistic. 
 
It’s like a— 
slow burn on my skin, 
it’s become my favorite sin. 
So when you look at me, 
my brain forgets how to breathe, 
automatically. 
I’ve got to think about it, 
I have to do it 
manually. 
 
Inhale, my lungs yell, 
as I become light-headed. 
Struggling to keep 
my thoughts straight. 
As my brain races, 
but not in the way 
I’m used to. 
You are the cause, 
this is what you do. 
 
Exhale— 
feel the air 
stick in my lungs. 
Like my body is in 
full protest. 
Not against you, 
but against 
what it’s supposed to do. 
It’s like I’ve forgotten 
how to survive. 
 
Like knowing you, 
has rewired 
every part of me.
This is what it looks like—
how you fluster me.
How you’re everything
I crave.
The way one word,
can make me cave.

The rhythm in my chest?
It beats for you.
These lungs,
they breathe for you.
It’s like you’ve claimed me,
without staking a claim—
I’m just sayin’,
I’m yours.

Curious for more? Step into The Library of Ashes, where every poem has a story to tell.