Sometimes love is tender. Sometimes it’s ridiculous. Sometimes it’s equal parts devotion, lust… and, well… Pokémon references.
This one’s for the bold, the playful, and anyone who knows that love can be legendary. Read it aloud.
Laugh. Blush. Feel.
Sometimes love is ridiculous. Sometimes, it’s legendary.
PokéDevotion Poetry by Rowan Evans
My devotion is true, just like my love for you— I won’t whisper it quietly, I’ll scream it out, Loudred.
Everything that comes to me, I’ll give to you— that’s the Plusle of being Minun. We’ll dance to our own Volbeat, carefree, spinning in our rhythm.
I’ll shift with your emotional weather— your personal Castform. I won’t ask you to change or transform, just be.
If you’re ever stressed or tense, spread them wide— I’ll rest my head between ’em, and give you a Lickilicky.
If you say you’re not ready, I won’t ask, Wynaut? We can go slow, we can Spheal it out together.
But I must ask, Relicanth—you see what you mean to me? You’re my Latias, so I’ll never say Latios to you.
You’ve been with idiots and assholes, but you see clearly— you know I’m Rhyperior. I’ll wrap you in devotion, Swadloon; if they think there’s room to come between— they’re wrong. I won’t Leavanny.
I promise— I won’t let harm touch your life. I’ll protect you until my last breath; I’ll keep the Shieldon.
And if you choose me, I’ll be your starter, your best friend. The Pikachu to your Ash, you and I until the very end.
I am sorry for this poem and the one linked below…
[Vaporeon Drip, Flareon Bliss] A wild, playful, and shockingly romantic Pokémon-inspired poem exploring devotion, desire, and every Eevee evolution.
This one’s for the ones who think their ego gives them a crown. A little feminist sermon in C minor, sharp, funny, and unflinchingly honest. Consider it a poetic mic-drop for all the Fuckboys out there—because sometimes silence really is golden… especially when it’s his.
A visual representation of ‘Shuddup, Fuckboy’—a feminist mic-drop in poetry form.
Shuddup, Fuckboy (A Feminist Sermon in C Minor) Poetry by Rowan Evans
“Because silence is golden — especially when it’s his.”
Oh, you talked to a woman once and now you think you know it all? Shuddup, Fuckboy.
Every picture you send is a dick pic, because you’re a dick, bitch. Foreplay? You think that’s texting “u up?” at 2am like a horny raccoon in the DMs.
You quote Jordan Peterson, have a podcast no one listens to, and think “emotional labor” is a kink. It’s not. Grow up.
Shuddup, Fuckboy. You say you’re “sapiosexual” but can’t spell it. You call yourself a feminist just long enough to get her clothes off. Then it’s “Well, not all men…” Cue the sirens. We found the problem.
You’re the human version of an unsolicited voice memo— loud, unnecessary, and somehow still managing to mansplain her own trauma back to her.
You think “being nice” entitles you to a throne. But baby, you’re not a king— you’re a court jester in H&M joggers, still waiting on that SoundCloud career to take off.
Shuddup, Fuckboy. You call her crazy after gaslighting her for months, then cry when she leaves like you didn’t hand her the matches and beg her to dance while everything burned.
You ghost, then breadcrumb, then ghost again— a Scooby-Doo villain of romantic incompetence.
“Sorry, I’ve just been really busy.” Right. Busy re-downloading Tinder because one woman had standards.
Shuddup, Fuckboy. Even your mirror rolls its eyes. Even your shadow doesn’t follow you anymore.
And me? I don’t need revenge. I’ve got receipts, growth, and a front-row seat to your slow-motion emotional bankruptcy.
Enjoy your echo chamber of “not all men.” And those crusty gym selfies. You’re not misunderstood— you’re just mid.
Shuddup, Fuckboy. And maybe for once in your life— just listen.
Shh— Shuddup, Fuckboy.
If you liked this, you might like some of my other pieces. You can find the archives [here].
Respectfully is a playful exploration of desire, boundaries, and the contradictions that exist within intimacy and expression. It fuses humor, Gothic sensibilities, and erotic confession, embracing both the feral and the polite aspects of human longing. The poem isn’t just about lust—it’s about intent: how even the most untamed impulses can coexist with consent, respect, and self-awareness.
In crafting this piece, I wanted to explore the tension between saying exactly what you feel and maintaining decorum, the duality of a poet’s boldness and manners. Each “Respectfully” is both a comedic punctuation and a manifesto: you can want what you want, but you can also honor the boundaries of others—and yourself.
This poem celebrates the audacity of voice, the wit of language, and the sacredness of choice—where grammar and desire meet in an unapologetically Gothic, confessional way.
— Rowan Evans
Where feral desire meets impeccable manners—Respectfully, poetry by Rowan Evans.
Respectfully Poetry by Rowan Evans
I’ve been known to say some incredibly feral things— and I always mean them. I would let you absolutely ruin me. Respectfully, of course.
I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just have no filter— a poet’s curse, you see. I speak in impulses and italics. You could hold me down and choke me. Respectfully, for real.
I would let you do unholy things to me. Respectfully. I would let you tie me up with rope— You could bruise and break me. Respectfully, I hope.
It’s not that I’m trying to shock you, it’s just that desire sounds better when it’s proofread with manners. Like—yes, I’d sin, but I’d also say please and thank you. A gentlethem of chaos, if you will.
Every filthy line I write is sealed with consent and courtesy. That’s the difference between vulgar and art. I say “I’d ruin your life,” then I spell-check it for tone. Respectfully.
If I ever send you a message that makes you blush, know that I meant it— but I also meant no harm. It’s the duality of lust and decorum. Saint in the streets, Sinner with impeccable grammar.
So when I say, “I’d let you wreck me in ways that require a safety word and a sonnet,” you’ll know it’s not a threat. It’s a prayer with boundaries.
Because that’s who I am— a walking contradiction in lipstick and ink, a poet of piety and profanity, who loves like a cathedral on fire and means it…
Respectfully.
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[Muse of Mayhem] “She is fury made flesh, a witch with war in her hips, and I— I volunteer as tribute.”
Muse of Mayhem explores the intoxicating pull of chaos, desire, and surrender in Rowan Evans’ signature Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism style.
[My Red Flags] “You told me you had anger issues. But I’ve only seen you furious in defense—a saint of righteous fire.”
‘My Red Flags’ is a confession disguised as a love spell. In this dark romantic poem, Rowan Evans turns every warning sign into worship—an ode to danger, devotion, and the art of loving without fear of burning.
[Retribution in Shadows] A shadowed vow, a vigil in the dark, and a voice that rises for the unheard. ‘Retribution in Shadows’ is a dark Gothic poem about imagined justice, written with the intensity of protective love and raw emotion.
Poetry by Rowan Evans 