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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: global identity

  • The Needle Doesn’t Point North | A Poem About Disconnection, Identity, and Longing for Elsewhere

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some feelings don’t fade with age.

    They sharpen.

    I’ve been writing versions of this poem since I was a teenager, long before I had the language to understand what I was actually trying to say.

    Back then, people treated it like escapism. Wanderlust. Fantasy. A phase.

    But there’s a difference between wanting to travel and feeling fundamentally misaligned with the place you were born into.

    This piece isn’t about hating where I’m from. It’s about disconnection — about spending most of your life emotionally out of sync with the environment around you, while feeling an inexplicable, almost gravitational pull toward places you’ve never physically been.

    For years, I hid that truth behind metaphor. Tokyo alleyways. Neon lights. Foreign streets. Airports. Oceans. Other languages drifting through the background. It was easier to let imagery speak for me than to say the thing outright.

    This poem is me pulling the mask off a little.

    Not to be dramatic.

    Just honest.

    Because after long enough, recurring imagery stops being aesthetic and starts becoming evidence.

    And maybe that’s what poetry has always been for me:

    A compass trying to explain itself.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary person holding a notebook and compass stands beneath a streetlight while distant neon city lights glow on the horizon.
    I was born here.
    But somewhere along the way, my compass started pointing elsewhere.

    The Needle Doesn’t Point North
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I have been sitting with this
    for most of my life.

    I’ve talked about it before.

    I’ve written it,
    more times than I can count—
    since I was fourteen
    I’ve wanted out.

    I was told,
    “it’s a kid’s fantasy,”
    just a phase I’d outgrow.

    But here I am at thirty-six,
    still dreaming of distant shores.

    The soil may have shifted
    over the years,
    but the pull remained the same.

    Growing up
    with this feeling stuck
    in the pit of my gut,

    do you know what that’s like?

    To never feel like you fit,
    always out of place.

    But everyone around you
    doesn’t see it—

    they see a teen
    being difficult,
    notebook clutched
    with plans
    scribbled inside.

    These weren’t just poems—
    they were escape routes
    written in code,
    only I could read.

    I wrote about Tokyo’s streets
    and walking through alleyways—

    masked in metaphors,
    buried in similes—

    I’ve written about Beijing,
    and Shanghai,
    with nocturnal trips
    to Seoul.

    But I’ve never
    said it so plain.

    I was born here,
    so I’m from here—
    but I don’t feel connected,
    I’m not of here.

    American mouth,
    global mind—

    been this way
    since seventeen.

    Shh—
    I went quiet,
    but the fire
    wasn’t silent.

    I could hear it speak,
    it was urging me.

    Eighteen came and went,
    nineteen too.

    I could still feel
    the pull—
    but it was different now.

    Deeper.
    Stronger.
    More mature.

    Twenty, twenty-one,
    twenty-two, twenty-three—
    four more years,
    still stuck.

    Not trapped.

    New destination appeared—
    and it’s been the same since.

    I’ve said it before,
    the needle
    doesn’t point north—

    body in the west,
    puso sa silangan.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Weather in My Chest]
    “Weather in My Chest” is a free verse poem about emotional hyperawareness, social tension, and the quiet experience of carrying internal storms into rooms that react before a single word is spoken.

    [Sound as a Vessel]
    “Sound as a Vessel” is a free verse poem about music as emotional architecture, exploring how international artists and soundscapes shaped identity, creativity, memory, and poetic voice.

    [Just Knowing You Has Been Enough]
    “Just Knowing You Has Been Enough” is a deeply vulnerable free verse poem about unspoken love, emotional fear, coded confessions, and the quiet truth of caring for someone without needing perfection in return.

    [The Streets I Walk When I Sleep]
    “The Streets I Walk When I Sleep” is a deeply intimate free verse poem about recurring dreams, emotional connection, longing across distance, and the strange feeling of remembering places and moments that have never happened in waking life.

    [Memories From a Life Yet to Come]
    Some dreams feel less like fantasy and more like memory. “Memories From a Life Yet to Come” is a reflective free verse poem about longing, displacement, emotional alignment, and the strange comfort of recognizing yourself more clearly in dreams than in waking life

    [Separate Timelines]
    “Separate Timelines” is a surreal and deeply introspective free verse poem about emotional distance, time zones, vulnerability, and the fear of losing a connection that already feels meaningful before the words are ever spoken aloud.

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

  • The Power I Chose – A Poem About Language, Connection, and Belonging

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    When I was a kid, other children wished for speed, flight, invisibility and teleportation. I wished to understand.

    This piece isn’t about wanderlust or escape. It’s about connection – the desire to meet people in the language they speak at home, in the rhythm that feels natural to them. I may not have superpowers, but I’ve spent years training my ear, listening with intention, and closing the distance in the ways I can.

    Some bridges are built with ink.
    Others are built with effort.

    — Rowan Evans

    A child on a playground at sunset looking up at glowing words in different languages in the sky, symbolizing connection and fluency.
    Some wished for flight. I wished for fluency.

    The Power I Chose
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Let me take you back
    to playground conversations—
    when superpowers
    were the topic at hand,
    and kids were wishing
    for flight, speed or teleportation.

    Then there was me—
    I wished for connection
    and fluency, for no language
    to be new to me.

    I wanted my ears to pick-up
    language and cadence,
    and my mouth to repeat it
    perfectly. I wanted,
    no matter where
    someone was—

    I wanted to be able
    to meet ’em,
    to greet ’em
    with the language
    they spoke at home.

    I pictured traveling
    touching every corner
    of the globe,
    absorbing language,
    perfecting cadence.
    Living in a rhythm
    not my own.

    Now, the power
    may not have been real,
    but I’ve done
    what I could
    to train my ear.
    Listen with intention,
    until all language
    felt the same.
    And I may not know
    what you’re sayin’,
    but it no longer
    feels foreign.

    I’ll keep learning,
    and opening doors.
    Closing gaps,
    connecting with souls—

    As I continue to wander
    this earth, in search
    of a place to call home.
    Until I feel the pull of roots,
    I will continue to put
    earth under boots.
    I will continue to move,
    never becoming static.

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

  • Global Mind – A Poem About Borders, Belonging, and Finding Home Beyond Geography

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece came from a place of clarity more than frustration. For most of my life, I’ve felt disconnected from the borders around me – not in rebellion, but in recognition. My internal world has always felt wider than the map I was handed.

    Global Mind isn’t about rejecting where I’m from. It’s about understanding that home, for me, has never been strictly geographic. It’s something relational. Something resonant. A connection to people and cultures that feel aligned, not assigned.

    Sometimes the relief comes not from escaping – but from finally articulating what you’ve known all along.

    — Rowan Evans

    A person standing on a city overlook at sunset, gazing toward a vast blended horizon symbolizing global identity and belonging beyond borders.
    Sometimes home isn’t a place.
    It’s a people. A connection. A resonance.

    Global Mind
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    A global mind,
    trapped inside
    imaginary lines.
    These borders
    feel more like—
    shackles and chains.

    How do you
    push through
    when you—
    have always felt
    chained but unclaimed?

    Disconnected
    from the world
    around you.

    I feel like—
    I don’t belong
    and I never have.

    This place isn’t home to me.

    It’s emotional
    purgatory.
    Trapped in waiting.

    But you’re drawn to SEA—
    so you open your eyes
    to witness, the world
    in its vast existence.
    Stayed curious.
    Wanting to see
    every corner
    of every country.

    I want to understand.

    Now, I don’t know
    what the future holds.
    Or where I’ll finally
    put down roots,
    but I know when I
    finally find—home,
    it’ll be in the people
    around me. More than
    my surroundings.
    Because sometimes
    home isn’t a place.

    It’s a people.
    A vibe.

    A connection
    to a culture
    that resonates,
    in a way
    that your own
    never did.

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