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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: funny poetry

  • Draggin’ (Ignis) | A Playful Battle Poetry Flex by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There are poems where I sit down with a very serious idea and carefully shape every word.

    This isn’t one of those poems.

    Draggin’ (Ignis) is me letting the pen run loose, throwing references at the page, flexing a little, and then immediately making fun of myself for doing it. It’s playful bravado with a gothic streak, a little battle-rap energy, and absolutely no intention of pretending I’m cooler than I am.

    Twenty-three years of writing will do strange things to a poet.

    Apparently, it makes them compare themselves to dragons, superheroes, and Pokémon-level fire hazards.

    Enjoy the chaos.

    — Rowan Evans

    A playful poet stands with a fountain pen as black ink transforms into a mischievous dragon surrounded by flames, ice, and motion.
    Twenty-three years of writing and this is what the pen decided to do with all that experience.

    Draggin’ (Ignis)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Twenty-three years, I’ve been doing this
    with craft in my veins and trauma in my brain—
    I’ve really been through some shit.
    Maybe that’s why I write so ruthless—
    if I spit a diss, it’d be ignis—I’d be draggin’ you,
    but I’m nice, so I’m a dragon like Toothless.
    This is stupid, silly, dumb—
    I can’t take me serious, and this is how come.

    Yeah, these might be jokes—
    but I’m cold, Bobby Drake,
    so shut your mouth
    before I turn your girl into a—

    Dragon Rider…

    That kind of killed the rhyme,
    that’s fine—

    here’s a few more lines…

    I’m too quick-witted—

    pen faster than Flash,
    I’m too quick wit’ it
    when I write lines
    to silence critics.

    I’ve been writing for years,
    double digits—
    two followed by the number
    that comes next—
    I’m not even trying to flex,
    this is just me writing facts.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter)]
    A playful battle-poetry piece where confidence, wordplay, pop-culture references, and a sharp pen collide. Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter) turns verbal sparring into a ridiculous little poetry showdown.

    [Kaio-ken/Zenkai]
    Two Dragon Ball-inspired battle poems about creative power, survival, and coming back stronger. Kaio-ken with a Pen brings the attack, while Zenkai (Stronger Now) delivers the aftermath: push me to the edge, and I’ll return stronger than before.

    [Don’t Push Me]
    A playful battle-poetry piece about turning insults into punchlines, standing your ground, and refusing to be intimidated. Don’t Push Me mixes swagger, humor, rhyme, and Rowan Evans’ signature self-aware interruptions.

    [B.S.T.F.U.]
    A playful battle-poetry exercise packed with insults, internal rhymes, punchlines, wordplay, and literary swagger. B.S.T.F.U. is Rowan Evans flexing the verbal muscles—not calling out anyone in particular.

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

  • Give Me (I’ll Give) | A Playful Confidence Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some poems ask for your attention.

    This one asks for a challenge.

    Give me something to work with, and I’ll turn it into a line. A joke. A rhyme. A little trouble.

    That’s the game.

    — Rowan Evans

    A fountain pen and open notebook surrounded by surreal images of a microphone, ghost, lyric sheet, and toast.
    Give me something to work with. I’ll give you a poem.

    Give Me (I’ll Give)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Give me a beat,
    I’ll give you a bar.
    Give me a graveyard,
    I’ll give you a ghost.
    Give me a lyric,
    I’ll give you a joke.
    Give me a drink,
    I’ll give you a toast.

    You don’t have to say it—
    I know, I write better than most.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Nobody² (No Body)]
    A minimalist poem playing with the double meaning of “nobody”—exploring loneliness, isolation, absence, and the feeling of becoming a ghost within your own life.

    [Rose & Ruin]
    Two minimalist poems exploring the opposing forces within creativity: the thoughts we cultivate into something beautiful and the darker thoughts we transform before they have a chance to decay.

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

  • Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter) | A Funny Pop Culture Poetry Diss by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes I sit down with a pen and decide I’m going to behave.

    That usually lasts about three lines.

    Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter) is one of those pieces where the writing gets a little cocky, the jokes start stacking up, and the references begin sneaking through the cracks. It’s playful, competitive, and intentionally ridiculous in places.

    So consider this a little verbal sparring session.

    No hard feelings.

    Probably.

    — Rowan Evans

    A confident poet holds a fountain pen like a microphone on a surreal stage surrounded by glowing bars made of ink and handwritten lines.
    The meet-and-greet is over. The pen has entered the battle.

    Behind These Bars (Idol Chatter)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Oh, look at you—
    look what you can do
    with a pen—it’s cute,
    but you can’t win—
    yet you think you can?

    Damn, man—
    what was your plan?
    How were you going
    to get the best of me?

    Get in line—
    get ready for the meet and greet,
    I’ll sign your autograph,
    cause I—

    I know I’m your Idol,
    American,
    shape the ink like clay,
    ’til it’s achin’—
    I’m Stronger now,
    and not Because Of You,
    so listen quick, remember bitch,
    you’ll want to remember where you were at
    during A Moment Like This—

    that was three straight references
    to Clarkson, Kelly—
    sit down, talk show, telly.
    It’s just jokes bitch, I can get silly—
    that’s just how the mind
    Behind These Hazel Eyes works—

    jerks.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Conductor]
    A dark, intimate poem about the strange power words can have over the reader—where rhythm, rhyme, and line breaks become instruments capable of reaching beyond the page.

    [Kaio-ken/Zenkai]
    Two Dragon Ball-inspired battle poems about creative power, survival, and coming back stronger. Kaio-ken with a Pen brings the attack, while Zenkai (Stronger Now) delivers the aftermath: push me to the edge, and I’ll return stronger than before.

    [Don’t Push Me]
    A playful battle-poetry piece about turning insults into punchlines, standing your ground, and refusing to be intimidated. Don’t Push Me mixes swagger, humor, rhyme, and Rowan Evans’ signature self-aware interruptions.

    [B.S.T.F.U.]
    A playful battle-poetry exercise packed with insults, internal rhymes, punchlines, wordplay, and literary swagger. B.S.T.F.U. is Rowan Evans flexing the verbal muscles—not calling out anyone in particular.

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

  • Comic Book Confidence | A Funny Superhero-Inspired Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Comic Book Confidence is me asking a very important question:

    What if I had superhero confidence without actually having superhero powers?

    The answer, apparently, is several increasingly terrible decisions.

    I wanted to play with the mythology of comic-book heroes—the wall-crawling, flying, super-speed, impossible confidence—and translate that into a deliberately ridiculous poetic narrative. Every time the speaker decides they must have discovered a new power, reality immediately provides a correction.

    That’s what makes the piece fun for me. It’s not really about superheroes; it’s about confidence outrunning competence.

    And maybe that’s something worth laughing at in ourselves sometimes. We imagine ourselves as Spider-Man, Superman, The Flash, Batman—and then gravity reminds us that we’re still just people.

    So this is Battle Rowan in a different form:

    No superpowers.
    No safety net.
    Just confidence, bad decisions, and a pen.

    — Rowan Evans

    A confident poet poses like a superhero while comic-inspired energy, flying pages, and signs of failed superhero attempts surround them.
    Turns out confidence is a superpower. Unfortunately, gravity isn’t impressed.

    Comic Book Confidence
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Put glue on my hands,
    and try to climb the walls—
    yeah, tried to Spider-Man it.
    Fell, got hurt, it was a curse—
    goddamnit!

    Okay, so that’s not the power I got
    and honestly, I’m shocked—
    Maybe I can fly? Maybe I’ll try,
    sheet tied and I climbed, high—
    from this vantage point I could see,
    everyone looking like ants to me.

    Took one step then up, up and away.
    I jumped toward the summit—I Superman’d it.
    For a second, thought I made it—
    but really, I just—plummet.
    Yes, there I was hurtling—
    quick as shit toward the Earth,
    oh man, this is gonna hurt,
    just as soon as I hit the dirt.

    Oof, cough, wheeze—
    that was me trying to breathe.
    I had hit chest first,
    knocked the air out of me—
    I struggled to my feet,
    stumbling into a jog—
    like I had somewhere to be,
    and someone to meet—

    but I just had to run it off,
    Barry Allen, vibrating through a wall—
    or nah—
    smashed my head, I’m wobblin’—
    vision blurred, words slurred,
    delusion settin’ in—now I think I’m Batman
    and I’m Robin.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Kaio-ken with a Pen/Zenkai]
    Two Dragon Ball-inspired battle poems about creative power, survival, and coming back stronger. Kaio-ken with a Pen brings the attack, while Zenkai (Stronger Now) delivers the aftermath: push me to the edge, and I’ll return stronger than before.

    [The Inkbender]
    What if poetry was another form of bending? The Inkbender transforms the philosophies of Avatar: The Last Airbender into a celebration of language, creativity, rage, healing, and the power of the written word.

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

  • Impasta (A Diss in Pasta Form) | Tony Stanza’s Pasta Poetry Diss

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Ayo…

    Tony Stanza is back.

    And apparently, he has beef with another poet.

    Unfortunately for that poet, Tony has discovered pasta.

    Impasta (A Diss in Pasta Form) is exactly what it sounds like: a diss poem written almost entirely through pasta-related wordplay. Spaghetti becomes “impasta.” Fettuccine becomes “alfredo.” Macaroni becomes a metaphor for having no backbone. Ravioli becomes something that folds under pressure.

    And Tony is absolutely convinced this is devastating.

    That is what makes Tony Stanza fun.

    He isn’t trying to be subtle. He isn’t trying to sound sophisticated. He is a fictional poet who has apparently decided that every pasta dish is an opportunity for literary violence.

    But underneath the ridiculousness, there is a real little diss hiding in here.

    The target isn’t merely being called a bad poet. They’re being accused of being derivative, fragile, empty, and dependent on other people’s work. The pasta metaphors are ridiculous, but the criticism itself is surprisingly straightforward:

    Your work isn’t yours.

    Your confidence doesn’t survive pressure.

    And underneath all that presentation, there’s nothing there.

    Of course, Tony couldn’t possibly just say that.

    He had to make it about spaghetti.

    This is also another piece in the growing mythology of Tony Stanza—the “greatest poet you’ve never heard of,” a poet whose signature “Ayo…” apparently signals that something deeply unserious is about to happen.

    If I write anything pasta-related from this point forward, Tony Stanza did it.

    I don’t make the rules.

    Tony does.

    — Rowan Evans

    A fictional poet confidently writing a diss poem beside plates of spaghetti, fettuccine, macaroni, ravioli, and angel hair pasta.
    Ayo…
    Tony Stanza has entered the kitchen.
    And somebody’s about to get impasta’d. 🍝

    Impasta (A Diss in Pasta Form)
    Poetry by Tony Stanza

    Ayo…

    I call you spaghetti—
    because you’re just
    an impasta. (Imposter.)
    Your rhymes are cheesy.
    Parmesan.

    All these suckers fettucine.
    They alfredo. (afraid though.)
    Yeah, these bitches is macaroni.
    All elbows. No backbone.

    They talk a lot a ravioli—
    but fold when pressure hits,
    seam splits—
    and you realize they were
    full of nothing, no substance.

    You thought you were angel hair, capellini,
    the chosen one—divinity with a pen.
    But you’re just thin-skinned, overcooked,
    fragile to the core.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Lost in the Sauce]
    A playful heartbreak poem where sandwiches, ketchup, mustard, rye, lettuce, and sourdough become metaphors for emotional confusion. Beneath the food puns is a speaker trying to understand how everything went from “we’re okay” to suddenly feeling cold.

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

  • Lost in the Sauce | A Funny Love Poem About Heartbreak & Confusion

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes a poem is born from heartbreak.

    Sometimes it is born from a metaphor.

    And sometimes my brain apparently looks at a sandwich and says, yes, this is how we’re processing emotional confusion today.

    Lost in the Sauce is a deliberately playful poem built around food-related wordplay, particularly the language of sandwiches, condiments, bread, and the wonderfully terrible possibilities hidden inside them.

    The jokes are intentionally stupid.

    That is part of the point.

    “Bread” becomes “rye.” “Ketchup” becomes “catch up.” “Mustard” becomes “must’ve.” “Sourdough” becomes an emotional description. Even “lettuce meat in the middle” is doing multiple jobs at once.

    But beneath all of that nonsense is something much more familiar: the confusion of being told that everything is okay while someone’s behavior feels completely different.

    The speaker is trying to understand the contradiction.

    They were told the relationship was fine.

    They were told the other person was happy.

    So why does everything suddenly feel cold?

    Why does affection feel sour?

    Why does the speaker feel trapped in place, struggling to catch up to something they don’t fully understand?

    The ridiculous wordplay gives me permission to approach that emotional confusion without making the poem overly solemn.

    I’ve been rediscovering how much I enjoy treating language like a playground—taking ordinary words, twisting them until they become something else, and seeing how far I can push a joke before the emotional meaning underneath it starts showing through.

    So yes, this poem is about sandwiches.

    Sort of.

    Mostly, it’s about being lost in the sauce when the person you’re trying to understand has already changed the recipe.

    — Rowan Evans

    A surreal sandwich with layers of bread, meat, lettuce, tomato, ketchup, and mustard separating two figures.
    Sometimes you don’t fall apart.
    Sometimes you just get lost in the sauce. 🥪

    Lost in the Sauce
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    You sandwiched me in
    with an all-tomato—

    love you or leave,
    but I couldn’t do it clean—

    I was lost in the sauce,
    begging lettuce
    meat in the middle.

    You said, “you lie.”
    I said, “Nah, you rye.”

    But do you know why?
    I was stuck in place,
    you wouldn’t wait—

    I was struggling
    to ketchup.
    I thought you
    mustard—

    how could you not?
    People talk.

    Look—
    I’m sorry.
    I don’t want to fight.
    But, you said—
    you were happy.
    We were okay.

    So why you so cold,
    why you actin’ sourdough?

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Did You Really Think This Was About Trees?]
    A playful love poem disguised as a forest of terrible tree puns. Beneath the birch, oak, cedar, palms, lumber, and absurdist wordplay is a poem about devotion, loyalty, laughter, and building a life with someone you love.

    [Blended Hardware]
    A playful, absurdist poem where step-ladders, garden hoses, Star Wars, teenage memories, Gothic imagery, and the poet’s own self-interrupting commentary collide. Blended Hardware is a celebration of letting language wander.

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

  • Did You Really Think This Was About Trees? | A Playful Love Poem

    Rowan Evans

    Every now and then, affection shows up wearing bark and leaves. Today was one of those days.

    A romantic couple beneath palm trees on a summer beach with a whimsical wooden castle nearby.
    Did you really think this was about trees? 🌳

    Did You Really Think This Was About Trees?
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Birch, I’m in a mood—
    but I’m feelin’ pretty Oak today,
    oops, I mean, a-o-k—
    especially with my Rose Wood beside me,
    open my eyes, so I could Cedar—
    her fingers in my hair,
    like the breeze through the leaves.

    Did you really think
    this was about trees?

    It’s just me and her
    by the summer seas,
    just us with Palms in the sand—
    castle and a plot of land,
    where she is royalty—
    a Queendom built
    off the back of loyalty.

    And that’s something I don’t lack,
    I got it in stacks—packed to the rafters,
    stick with me and you’ll have a life full of laughter—
    you’ll never get board like a lumberyard,
    and I work hard—
    to prove my words have meaning,
    even when they are weird
    or absurdist leaning.

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes I write a poem because I have something profound to say.

    Sometimes I write one because my brain looked at a bunch of tree names and apparently decided they needed to become flirting material.

    This is the latter.

    Did You Really Think This Was About Trees? is a deliberately ridiculous little love poem built almost entirely around wordplay. Birch, oak, rosewood, cedar, palms, lumberyards, boards—I’m taking language that belongs to the world of trees and woodworking and forcing it into a completely different emotional landscape.

    And yes, the title is absolutely part of the joke.

    The poem starts by making the reader think they’re about to get some sort of nature poem. Then I reveal that the trees were never really the subject.

    The subject was her.

    The forest is just the camouflage.

    I also wanted the poem to feel conversational and slightly chaotic. The little correction from “Oak” to “a-o-k,” the exaggerated promises, the lumberyard imagery, and the final admission that the whole thing is leaning toward absurdism are all intentional.

    There is something freeing about allowing a love poem to be stupidly playful.

    Not every expression of affection needs to be solemn.

    Sometimes love looks like poetry.

    Sometimes it looks like devotion.

    And sometimes it looks like spending an entire poem making increasingly terrible tree puns because you love someone enough to make yourself laugh while writing about them.

    Honestly, I’ll take all three.

    — Rowan Evans

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Blended Hardware]
    A playful, absurdist poem where step-ladders, garden hoses, Star Wars, teenage memories, Gothic imagery, and the poet’s own self-interrupting commentary collide. Blended Hardware is a celebration of letting language wander.

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

  • Blended Hardware — A Playful Poem About Friendship, Memory & Language

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some poems begin with a carefully constructed metaphor.

    This one began with a step-ladder.

    And then immediately refused to behave.

    Blended Hardware is intentionally ridiculous. I started with a simple object and let my mind wander wherever the language wanted to take it: ladders became hoses, hoses became an excuse for a terrible joke, friendship became Star Wars, Obi-Wan became a teacher, Luke became Leia, and suddenly I was revisiting different versions of myself across my writing history.

    That wandering is the point.

    I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how much more playful my relationship with language has become. I don’t always sit down with a destination in mind anymore. Sometimes I just start writing and see what happens.

    This poem is one of those moments.

    It also became a strange little conversation between different versions of Rowan. The fifteen-year-old writer appears briefly, the Gothic voice tries to take over, and the present-day me immediately interrupts to tell her to calm the hell down.

    That self-interruption is probably one of my favorite parts of the piece.

    I can write something dramatic and immediately recognize that I have made the moment far more Gothic than it needs to be.

    I can make a joke, realize the joke went somewhere questionable, and then literally put myself on trial inside the poem.

    That is part of what makes writing feel like a playground again.

    I don’t have to protect every poem from being silly.

    I don’t have to make every metaphor profound.

    I don’t have to prove that every line deserves to exist.

    Sometimes I can just follow a thought until it becomes a garden hose, an Obi-Wan reference, a fifteen-year-old version of myself, and an increasingly concerned author asking whether she accidentally threatened somebody.

    And honestly?

    That’s enough.

    — Rowan Evans

    A surreal step-ladder surrounded by garden hoses, handwritten pages, ink, feathers, and whimsical literary objects.
    Sometimes you start with a step-ladder and end up somewhere completely different.

    Blended Hardware
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    This is my step-ladder.

    I call it a step-ladder,
    because I had another
    ladder before—

    and yeah, I got plenty hose—
    different shapes and different sizes,
    some are six feet, some are four—
    I’m glad I only have two outside faucets,
    ’cause I wouldn’t have plenty hose,
    if I had one more. (I only have two hoses.)

    You’re not just my homie,
    you’re my Obi-wan Kenobi—
    and I’m Luke, mixed with Leia.
    That means you’re my teacher,
    and my only hope, playa.

    (I’m sorry for that, truly.
    I don’t know what I was thinking.
    I’m going to…
    I’m going to put the pen down now.)

    SIKE! I lied like it’s 1999—
    four more years and the myth would start,
    a poet born with a blackened heart.

    (Dial back,
    that was too gothic for this piece.)

    I mean, sike… I lied like it’s 2005—
    and I’m fifteen with a pen again,
    two years into the journey
    mapping how I’d survive—

    and I mean me, not them—
    I’m talking the person
    they’d grow into.
    The person I’d caution you,
    against taking a pen to—

    that’s a battle you wouldn’t win, boo.

    (Wait…

    was that a threat?

    In a joke poem?

    Too far, Rowan…
    too far.)

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Not the Way Jesus Did]
    A provocative poem about religious judgment, hypocrisy, outcasts, and the contradiction between preaching compassion and condemning those who live differently.

    [Noon is Loud]
    If four in the morning belongs to truth, then noon belongs to impossible memories. Noon Is Loud is a playful free verse poem filled with absurd boasts, pop culture references, and tongue-in-cheek mythology that explores how easily imagination can rewrite reality.

    [Content Warning]
    What if you reviewed a person the way you’d review a terrible novel? Content Warning is a playful, satirical poem that uses literary criticism as the ultimate roast, proving that sometimes the sharpest metaphor is also the funniest.

    [Chemical X]
    Chemical X explores the rapid, associative way one creative mind moves—from cartoons to sports, comic books to music—revealing that inspiration isn’t linear, but a collision of memory, humor, rhythm, and intuition.

    [Off Leash Thought]
    A reflective free verse poem exploring the mind as a living, wandering force—unpredictable, creative, and sometimes chaotic—through the metaphor of a dog off leash. It embraces mental drift not as a flaw, but as a natural part of creative thought and self-awareness.

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

  • No Stupid Questions — A Poem About Listening, Curiosity & Frustration

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes a poem doesn’t need to be profound.

    Sometimes it just needs to say, “Please fucking listen.”

    No Stupid Questions came from that particular kind of frustration—the kind that happens when someone asks something that has already been answered, interrupts the flow of a conversation, or throws a question into the room without stopping to consider whether the information they want is already sitting right in front of them.

    The old saying goes, “There are no stupid questions.”

    I don’t completely agree.

    Questions aren’t inherently stupid. Curiosity is valuable, and asking for clarification is often exactly what we should do. But there is a difference between genuinely wanting to understand something and simply asking whatever crosses your mind without listening to what was already said.

    This poem is intentionally blunt because the frustration is blunt.

    It’s conversational, a little sarcastic, and unapologetically irritated. There are times when I want my poetry to dress an idea in metaphor and symbolism. Other times, I just want to point at the problem and say exactly what I mean.

    No metaphor.

    No elaborate mythology.

    No moon, tide, raven, or rose to hide behind.

    Just:

    You already got your answer.

    Listen.

    — Rowan Evans

    P.S. – The end of this piece is entirely a joke.

    A writer at a desk surrounded by chaotic question marks while a clear answer sits untouched in an open notebook.

    No Stupid Questions
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    You know—

    the person that said,
    “there’s no such thing
    as a stupid question,”—

    probably asked a lot
    of stupid questions,
    just like you—

    Not trying to be rude
    or give attitude—

    but dude,
    you asked that question
    out of the blue.

    (And it was dumb,
    it was a stupid question…
    I had to break the flow to tell you,
    you asked a stupid question.)

    I already told you—

    I already answered back,
    if you need the information
    then listen—I already gave you that.

    Do you even think
    before you speak,
    or do you just
    let your thoughts fly?

    You don’t have to ask
    every question
    that comes to mind.

    I don’t care
    if you are a child.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [You Are Perfect]
    A gentle reminder that your worth isn’t determined by your flaws or by the opinions of others. You Are Perfect is a poem about resilience, self-acceptance, and standing tall even when the world tries to make you feel small.

    [Human Rorschach]
    Sometimes we’re less a fixed person than an inkblot—our meaning changing with every set of eyes that looks at us. Human Rorschach explores perception, identity, and the ways our own experiences shape what we believe we see in others.

    [A Rose in the Ashes]
    Lost within a forest where every leaf becomes a memory, the speaker follows darkness instead of fleeing from it, discovering that healing isn’t found at the end of the tunnel—but in facing the past long enough to notice a single rose blooming through the ashes.

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

  • Swear Jar | Angry, Funny, and Honest Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    A little therapy in verse. Some swear words, some rage, and a whole lot of “I need a swear jar for life.” Proceed if you like your poetry honest, angry, and hilarious.

    Illustration of a glass jar overflowing with money, the jar is labelled "Swear Jar".
    The ultimate swear jar—poetry for when words alone aren’t enough.

    Swear Jar
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    A dollar in the jar for every “fuck,”
    And here we go, I’m out of luck.
    Because abusers make my blood boil,
    Manipulative bastards who revel in toil.

    “Shit!” There goes another buck,
    For the pricks who gaslight and leave hearts stuck.
    Twisting minds until they’re broken,
    Leaving scars with lies unspoken.

    The ones who cheat, the lying snakes,
    Who shatter trust for their own sakes.
    “Goddamn,” I shout, as I slam the lid,
    Another dollar for the shit they did.

    To the cowards who bruise with fists or words,
    Making love feel like it’s for the birds.
    “Bastards,” I mutter, reaching for cash,
    For every asshole who leaves hearts in the trash.

    “Fuckers!” Another curse flies free,
    Because love shouldn’t mean captivity.
    “Son of a bitch,” I spit, as the jar grows heavy,
    For the pain they cause, relentless and steady.

    “Shitheads,” I add, slamming down two more,
    For the manipulators who keep settling the score.
    Another “fuck” for the narcissists’ art,
    Tearing apart someone’s whole damn heart.

    “Damn it all,” I shout, the jar now full,
    But they piss me off, those selfish fools.
    By the end of this poem, here’s the count:
    Thirty-four curses—what a fucking amount.

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