Author’s Note

This poem didn’t start with a message.

It started with frustration.

Not the kind that arrives fully formed or carefully structured—but the kind that builds in fragments. Small irritations. Cultural noise. Half-remembered references. Thoughts that don’t arrive in order, but all at once.

What I wanted to capture here wasn’t a linear argument or a polished reflection on anger or identity.

It was the process itself.

The way the mind can jump from one idea to another without asking permission. The way language doesn’t always behave politely. The way emotion and memory and absurdity can occupy the same space without resolving into anything clean.

The Batman reference, the cartoon interruption, the sudden shift in tone—none of it is meant to smooth into coherence.

It’s meant to feel like it actually feels inside the moment of thinking it.

The line “This is how my mind works” is the turning point for me in the piece.

Not because it explains everything, but because it stops pretending everything needs to be explained.

Some poems are built to argue a point.

This one is built to show the mechanism.

And the ending—“Frankenstein’s Monster / And I’m the doctor”—isn’t meant as metaphor in the traditional sense.

It’s closer to recognition.

That the thing being called chaos is also something being assembled. Intentionally or not. Carefully or not. But still assembled.

And that sometimes the person inside the noise is also the one holding the pieces.

— Rowan Evans

Frankenstein’s Monster (and I’m the Doctor)
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I’m sick of my surroundings;
sick of these fakes,
sick of the snakes,
they’re all just Batman villains—
Two-face.

Crazy is the way
they made me.
Twisted thoughts
that wouldn’t stop—
pop goes the weasel,
I R Baboon.

This is how my mind works.
It links two things
that are seemingly opposites.
They have nothing in common,
but still I piece them together—

my poetry?
Frankenstein’s Monster.

And I’m the doctor.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[Violets Are Violet (Roses Are Complicated)]
A simple observation leads to an absurd conclusion: violets aren’t blue, roses aren’t always red, and the classic love poem may be far less accurate than advertised. A humorous free-verse poem about overthinking, flower symbolism, and the unintended consequences of analyzing clichés too closely.

[It’s Just Me but Super]
A playful free-verse poem about cartoons, imagination, cosmic wanderings, and the strange magic of creativity. Through wordplay, nostalgia, and absurd humor, Rowan Evans explores what happens when ordinary life meets an extraordinary imagination.

[100 Grand and a Book Deal]
A playful collision of candy bars, comic book heroes, basketball legends, and cosmic metaphors. Beneath the jokes lies a reflection on twenty-three years of writing, creativity, and the dream of building something lasting one line at a time.

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