Author’s Note

This piece lives in the space between feeling something and saying it out loud. The moment before confession. The hesitation that isn’t rooted in doubt, but in understanding the weight of certain words.

It’s about needing your own permission before you speak. About knowing that once something is said, it can’t be unsaid. And about realizing that sometimes the only way forward is through the risk.

Some words change everything.
Some words reveal what was already there.

— Rowan Evans

Only One Way to Find Out
Poetry by Rowan Evans

They told me to close my eyes,
asked me, describe what I see—

I see a vision of beauty,
radiant and true.
I see an angel’s face
with a devil’s mind—

You’re one of a kind.

They told me to take this pen,
write down everything
that I feel. But what if,
what I feel is too real?
So I negotiate with myself,
try to strike a new deal.

Because I’ve got—
so many things, I want to say.
But I need my own permission,
to undertake this mission.
Because once pen touches paper,
and ink bleeds across the page—
it’ll twist into confession.

What if I slip
and I say,
I love you?

What would I do?

How would I
protect myself
from this?
If a simple
four letter word
slipped—

would it end everything,
or be a new beginning?

I guess
there is only
one way
to find out—

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