Tag: individuality

  • Author’s Note

    This poem started with one of those wonderfully ridiculous thoughts that refuses to leave.

    What if I took the opening joke from an old cartoon and treated it completely seriously?

    A chicken. A cow. A father who proudly accepts both without ever asking for an explanation.

    The image made me laugh, but as I kept writing, I realized the joke was quietly carrying something much larger.

    So much of life is spent convincing people that difference is something to overcome. We flatten ourselves to fit expectations, compare our gifts to someone else’s, or assume that being different somehow means being less.
    Nature has never worked that way.

    A forest isn’t strong because every tree is identical. An orchestra doesn’t create harmony by playing the same note. Communities become richer because different people bring different strengths, experiences, perspectives, and ways of seeing the world.

    That’s what this poem slowly became.

    The cartoon setup stayed, because I think humor can open a door that seriousness sometimes cannot.

    Once the reader laughs, they’re already listening.

    And maybe they’ll leave remembering something simple:

    You don’t have to become someone else to have value.

    Sometimes the thing that makes you different is exactly what the world needs.

    Rowan Evans


    A chicken and a cow standing together in a sunlit pasture outside a red barn, symbolizing the beauty and strength found in differences.

    Difference Is How We Grow
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    “Don’t have a cow,” they said—
    why, my mama did?
    You see—

    Mama had a chicken.
    Mama had a cow.
    Dad was proud;
    he didn’t care how.

    And I know—
    that may sound absurd to you,
    but it’s a setup for a simple truth.

    There is strength in our differences—
    so let us try and identify
    what our difference is.

    Difference is not a warning sign—
    it’s a spark.

    A start.

    A door kicked open
    to a room you didn’t know you needed.

    You see—
    my family tree
    is less a tree
    and more a barnyard free‑for‑all.

    Feathers in the branches,
    hoofprints on the roots,
    and me somewhere in the middle
    trying to make sense of it all.

    But difference is not disorder—
    it’s the rhythm of the world
    learning to harmonize.

    So what makes you different—
    what is your strength?

    A cow gives milk,
    a chicken gives eggs—
    neither tries to be the other,
    yet breakfast would be poorer
    without both.

    So what do you bring to the table—
    that no one else can,
    and why hide it?

    Because sameness is a field gone fallow,
    but difference—
    difference is how we grow.


    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Tots, Rocks and All]
    What begins as a surreal collection of tater tots, rocks, comic book references, and runaway thoughts slowly reveals something much quieter: a poem about creativity, vulnerability, and the simple hope of finding someone willing to hold your heart.

    [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.

    [Monster Theology]
    What if the monsters under the bed weren’t monsters at all? Monster Theology explores difference, belonging, and the human tendency to fear what we don’t understand through a conversation with the creatures we’ve spent our lives imagining.

    [Raccoons in Silk Pajamas]
    What begins with judgmental Space Chickens quickly spirals into camels in parked cars, elephants in jam jars, raccoons in silk pajamas, and astronauts in the ocean. A playful absurdist poem about language, imagination, and what happens when you stop trying to control where the words go.

    [The Answer Is (Yes)]
    What kind of writer am I? Mythmaker, confessor, comedian, philosopher, dream-architect, romantic, storyteller, and diss-poet. This self-reflective poem explores the impossibility of fitting creativity into a single category—and embraces every version of the truth a pen can touch.

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

  • Author’s Note

    This piece started as a joke.

    Or at least, it started with the energy of one.

    I was playing with the idea of a character moving through different fictional universes and refusing every invitation offered to them. No Justice League. No Avengers. No X-Men. No Jedi Order. No chosen destiny. No sacred prophecy.

    Just refusal.

    But as I kept writing, something else emerged.

    The more references I added, the less the poem became about superheroes and the more it became about autonomy.

    Because beneath every fictional universe is usually the same question:

    Who decides who you are?

    A team? A title? A destiny? A prophecy? A god? A system?

    Or you?

    That’s where the title comes from.

    “Lone Wolf Theology” isn’t really about isolation. It’s about self-authorship.

    Not the rejection of connection, but the rejection of surrendering your identity to something external. The refusal to let institutions, expectations, labels, or inherited narratives become the sole authority over your life.

    The superheroes, anti-heroes, and mythic references serve as modern archetypes here. They represent power, belonging, destiny, responsibility, faith, rebellion, and purpose. The speaker moves through those worlds, not because they reject what those symbols represent, but because they refuse to let any one of them define them completely.

    At its core, this piece is about choosing your own path.

    Not because it is easier.

    Not because it guarantees success.

    But because there is something sacred about deciding for yourself who you will become.

    And perhaps that is the real theology hidden beneath all the comic books, capes, and cosmic references:

    Freedom is a practice.

    A choice made repeatedly.

    A vow renewed every time the world tries to tell you who you should be.

    Rowan Evans


    A solitary figure standing on a cliff beneath a star-filled sky surrounded by symbols of mythology, destiny, and freedom.
    No prophecy. No chosen order. No inherited destiny. Only the road ahead and the freedom to decide who you become.

    Lone Wolf Theology
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m a lone wolf, anti‑hero—
    Punisher psychology,
    Frank Castle reality,
    and Deadpool’s mentality.

    Yeah, that’s the fucking recipe.

    Fuck the League (Justice!)
    I don’t need no team,
    there are no Avengers around me.

    I am the evolution of man,
    no X‑Gene. No X team
    in this rhyme scheme.

    I don’t need a Bat‑Signal,
    I light up my own sky.
    Tell Stark I don’t need a suit—
    I’m built different, that’s why.

    Tell Logan I don’t need claws,
    I cut deep with my words.
    Tell Thor I don’t need hammers
    to make thunder heard.

    Fantastic Four?
    I’m fantastic solo.
    Guardians of the Galaxy?
    I guard galaxies dolo.

    Teen Titans?
    I’ve been grown since birth.
    Suicide Squad?
    I don’t need a squad to put you in the dirt.

    Lantern Corps?
    I don’t need a ring to shine.
    I’m the willpower,
    the fear,
    the rage—
    all combined.

    I don’t run with the Speed Force,
    I outrun it.
    Flash chasin’ lightning—
    I become it.

    No timeline can hold me,
    no paradox breaks me.
    Barry hit the wall of time—
    I run through it.

    Spider‑Verse?
    I don’t need a web to connect.
    I cut every thread
    and still command respect.

    Tell Parker I don’t need
    “great power” speeches.
    Tell Miles I don’t need
    a leap of faith to reach this.

    Venom? Carnage?
    I don’t fear their spawn.
    Symbiotes whisper to hosts—
    to me, they speak in song.

    I wear darkness like armor,
    I don’t need it to cling.
    I’m the wolf in the shadows—
    they’re just wearing the skin.

    And the Jedi Order?
    Please.
    I don’t need a council
    to tell me what peace is.

    I don’t need a saber
    to carve out my path.
    I don’t need the Force—
    I am the aftermath.

    No light side.
    No dark side.
    Just my side.
    My creed.
    My theology.

    The lone wolf
    doesn’t join orders—
    he creates one
    by being free.

    In the end,
    there is no order to join,
    no destiny to inherit,
    no prophecy to fulfill.

    There is only the road,
    the breath,
    the choice to rise
    when no one is watching.

    Freedom is not a gift—
    it is a vow whispered in the dark.
    And I keep it.
    Always.

    So write this
    in the margins of every myth:
    I owe nothing to the crowns of men
    or the councils of gods.

    I walk the line between fate and defiance,
    and I do not break—
    I bend the world around me.

    If destiny comes calling,
    tell it to knock louder.
    I don’t follow prophecy.
    I make it bleed
    until it follows me.


    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [L Words & Heart]
    A playful, self-aware poem about love, longing, loyalty, and the quiet ways another person can reshape our inner world. What begins as humor slowly reveals a heartfelt confession about affection, imagination, and the faces that linger in our dreams.

    [Just Beyond Waking]
    A street that feels familiar. A life that hasn’t happened yet. Just Beyond Waking explores the fragile space between dreams, memory, longing, and the quiet feeling that some futures are already waiting for us.

    [Twin Suns, Sister Moons]
    A poem about distance, longing, and the quiet pull of someone who lives beneath a different sky. Between twin suns and sister moons, the heart keeps reaching for home.

    [It’s You I Choose]
    A poem about devotion, vulnerability, and the quiet decision to stay. Sometimes love isn’t certainty—it is choosing someone anyway.

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