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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: inner conflict

  • Everything and Nothing | A Poem About Overthinking, Contradiction & Resilience by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes, the quietest person in the room has the loudest mind. Sometimes, the person who seems to have nothing to say is trying to sort through a thousand thoughts that never quite finish forming. And sometimes, when someone asks what’s wrong, the honest answer is both everything and nothing.

    Everything and Nothing explores the contradictions that can exist within one person: being observant enough to notice everything while struggling to explain what’s happening inside, feeling surrounded by beauty yet sometimes seeing only the rot, and having the spark to create without always having the fuel to keep the fire burning.

    But this isn’t a poem that wants to stay solemn. There’s a paradox wearing socks and Crocs, checking a five-dollar wristwatch, and wobbling through life with questionable coordination. Because humor has always had a place beside the heavier truths, and sometimes the absurdity is part of what makes those truths bearable.

    I may wobble. I may lose my train of thought before it reaches the station. I may have days when everything feels wrong and days when I can’t explain why nothing seems wrong at all. But falling and wobbling aren’t the same thing.

    And if there’s one thing this paradox knows, it’s how to keep wobbling.

    — Rowan Evans

    An introspective poet in socks and foam clogs sits among tangled thought fragments, contrasting flowers and decaying plants, a fading flame, and a rocking roly-poly toy symbolizing contradiction and resilience.
    Everything is wrong. Nothing is wrong. The thoughts won’t land, the fire won’t always burn, and somehow this paradox keeps wobbling.

    Everything and Nothing
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    When you meet me—
    you’ll think I’m quiet.
    I don’t say much,
    I sit in silence,
    with my mouth shut,
    but my eyes are open—
    watching, closely.

    And when you talk to me—
    you’ll wish I was quiet.
    I’m way too observant—
    I see too damn much,
    and I hear just the same—
    so don’t get mad at me,
    when you get flamed.

    But once you get to know me—
    you’ll get scared when I’m quiet,
    you’re suddenly afraid of my silence.
    Because It carries weight,
    everything I don’t say—
    what’s wrong? You’ll wonder,
    what’s on your mind?
    You’ll find that it’s nothing—
    mind’s blank, no thoughts in it.

    But what’s wrong?

    A lot.

    It would take too long
    to list every problem I’ve got.
    I’m surrounded by beauty,
    but sometimes all I see is rot—
    lost my mind, where’d I put it?
    I forgot—thoughts jammed,
    so I missed the shot.

    Thoughts move
    but never get where they’re—
    before another thought
    cuts it off—
    so it lands short,
    missed the runway by a mile.

    And that’s the part
    that hurts the most—
    when the spark is there,
    but the fire is quiet.
    The fuel is gone,
    so you hope you don’t
    have to reignite it.

    So to answer your question,
    what’s wrong?
    Everything and nothing—
    it’s in constant contradiction,
    my existence—

    I guess I’m just a paradox
    in a pair of socks and crocs,
    with a five dollar
    Wal-Mart wristwatch.
    But don’t worry—
    I’m a weeble,
    I wobble—

    but I don’t fall down.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Through the Page]
    A heartfelt thank-you to everyone who has journeyed through the pages of Rowan Evans’s poetry. From ravens and monsters to raccoons in silk pajamas, this playful, multilingual poem celebrates the connection between poet and reader—and the meaning found in sharing one’s art.

    [Thoughts of You Have Prime Real Estate]
    A playful romantic poem that turns the idea of someone “living rent-free in your head” into an entire neighborhood, where thoughts become homes—and one special thought gets the best property in town.

    [A Person First]
    A poem about the difference between loving a woman and loving the role someone expects her to play—because partnership requires respect, autonomy, and room to remain a person first.

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

  • Coordinates of Escape – A Poem About Introspection, Leaving, and Finding Direction

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece sits at the intersection of introspection and escape.

    Writing has always been where I process things–where thoughts loop, where patterns reveal themselves, where I can be honest in ways that don’t always come out loud.

    But there’s also a point where reflection turns into restlessness.

    Where you stop asking why you feel this way and start asking where do I go from here?

    The coordinates in this piece are real.

    Not just as a location–but as intention.

    A direction.
    A choice.

    Because sometimes the only way to break the loop
    is to move.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person overlooking a city skyline at night with faint geographic coordinates in the sky, symbolizing introspection and escape.
    Sometimes the way forward isn’t a thought—it’s a direction.

    Coordinates of Escape
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m in my head,
    all the time—
    introspective
    when I rhyme.

    I’m honest,
    turn the page
    into a confessional.

    The page listens
    when I speak in ink—
    poetry captures the dance
    at the brink,
    as thoughts loop—
    the thoughts loops,
    repeating what I think.

    It makes me feel weak—
    the way my thoughts
    get under my own skin.
    Why am I so fixated on the end,
    when really I want to restart—
    reset, begin again…

    Two feet on distant shores,
    eyes focused—looking forward,
    toward the future—
    with my back to the past.

    I’ll touchdown—
    121 degrees East
    of the Prime Meridian,
    14 degrees and 36 minutes
    North of the Equator.

    If you know where that is,
    you’ll know where to find me.

    It’s goodbye,
    no see you later.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [The Voice in the Haze]
    A wandering dream, a voice that feels like memory, and a moment where everything quiets just enough to be found.

    [Right Behind My Eyes]
    A raw and introspective poem exploring dissociation, emotional distance, and the grounding power of love. Right Behind My Eyes captures the feeling of watching your life from afar—and what keeps you from disappearing completely.

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

  • Right Behind My Eyes – A Poem About Dissociation, Love, and Staying Present

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There’s a specific kind of distance that’s hard to explain unless you’ve felt it.

    Not absence–
    but separation.

    Like you’re still here, still moving, still functioning…
    but you’re watching it happen from just behind your own eyes.

    This piece lives in that space.

    Between control and detachment. Between presence and drifting.

    For a long time, I thought connection was something that could fix that feeling–pull me fully back into myself.

    But that’s not really how it works.

    No one can do that for you.

    What they can do… is help anchor you.
    Give you something steady to hold onto while you find your way back.

    This piece isn’t about being saved.

    It’s about realizing that even in disconnection, even in that distance–
    there are still things that keep you here.

    And sometimes, that’s enough.

    — Rowan Evans

    Blurred figure standing in a dim room with a double-exposure effect symbolizing dissociation and emotional distance.
    Even at a distance from yourself, something can still keep you here.

    Right Behind My Eyes
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I stand between—
    control and disassociation.
    It’s like I’m right behind
    my own eyes,
    watching my own life
    pass me by.

    My body moves,
    but my mind
    stays still.

    Just going
    through the motions.

    Thoughts run rampant—

    One step forward,
    two steps back.
    One more step
    for everything I lack.

    From inside my mind,
    I see myself retreat—
    wake, eat, sleep, repeat.

    But I long
    for connection.

    Outside,
    I’m alone.
    Inside,
    her voice echoes.

    It keeps me—
    from drifting further,
    from disappearing completely.

    And in this struggle,
    I learned one thing:

    I don’t love easy—
    but when I love,
    I love deeply.

    And this love
    is the one thing
    that keeps me—
    from going under,
    from letting
    the darkness win.

    Because she can’t fix me,
    just like I can’t fix her.

    We’re not broken—
    we’re bruised.

    And bruises heal.
    Not by rescue,
    not by repair,
    but by time
    and care.

    And somehow—
    she draws the light
    from within me.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [The Voice in the Haze]
    A wandering dream, a voice that feels like memory, and a moment where everything quiets just enough to be found.

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

  • Standing Between Us | Identity & Love Poem

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece lives in a space between two interpretations, and I wrote it that way on purpose.

    It can be read as a reflection on identity–on the versions of ourselves we carry, the ones we’ve been, and ones we hesitate to become. A room filled with selves, each one shaped by different choices, different fears, different moments of almost.

    But it can also be read as something more relational. The figure in the piece–“her”–can exist as a person. Someone who feels steady, certain, present in a way the speaker isn’t yet. Someone who becomes a point of gravity.

    What matters to me is that the distance between them comes from the same place in both readings.

    Not circumstance.

    Not timing.

    But hesitation.

    In that way, the poem sits in the overlap between becoming and connection–where reaching someone else and becoming yourself start to feel like the same act.

    — Rowan Evans

    Multiple versions of a person standing in a dim surreal room with a distant glowing figure symbolizing identity and connection
    A room full of who I was, who I am, and who I haven’t learned to be yet.

    Standing Between Us
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I walk into a room
    that knows my name too well.

    It is filled with me—
    not reflections,
    not mirrors—
    but selves.

    They stand where I once stood,
    breathe how I used to breathe,
    hold their hands like I remember doing
    before I knew why.

    Some look at me.
    Most don’t.

    They are not ghosts—
    not quite.
    I cannot see through them.
    They have weight.
    Presence.
    Like memories
    that never learned how to fade.

    I move through them anyway.

    Shoulder brushing shoulder—
    past brushing present—
    future turning its head
    just a second too late.

    And then—

    her.

    Not fully seen.
    Never fully seen.

    A glimpse
    between the space
    of two mistakes,
    I used to make.

    A flicker
    caught in the outline
    of who I used to be
    and who I might become.

    I follow.

    Or maybe I orbit.

    Because every time I get close,
    another version of me steps in the way—
    hesitation given form,
    fear with a body,
    longing wearing my face.

    I want to call out—
    but which voice is mine?

    They all sound like me.

    So I keep moving.

    Through regret.
    Through almosts.
    Through the selves that loved—
    too early,
    too late…

    too quietly.

    And still—
    I see her.

    Soft.
    Certain.
    Waiting in the space
    I haven’t learned to stand in yet.

    I think—

    no.

    I know.

    She is not lost in this room.

    I am.

    And every version of me
    that I refuse to become
    is standing between us.

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

  • Not Begging, Just Tired – A Raw Poem About Faith, Identity, and Emotional Exhaustion

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Not Begging, Just Tired lives in that quiet space between breaking and continuing.

    This piece isn’t about giving up–it’s about what comes after the questions, when certainty fades and all that’s left  is awareness. It explores the tension between faith and doubt, between the voice that offers an easy escape and the part of us that still chooses to struggle, to grow, to stay human.

    There’s a kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from weakness, but from enduring–feeling everything, questioning everything, and still moving forward without clear answers. This poem sits in that space.

    It’s not a resolution.
    It’s not a victory.

    It’s a choice.

    To stay.

    — Rowan Evans

    A person kneeling in a dim room with soft light behind them, symbolizing emotional exhaustion and quiet resilience.
    Not begging—just tired, and still choosing to stay.

    Not Begging, Just Tired
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m on my knees again,
    begging—please again.
    My brain freezes,
    and I get lost within.

    Confronting sins.

    Am I who I want to be?
    I mean it—truthfully.
    Am I exactly who I want to be,
    or just who I became?

    And the devil whispers…

    He speaks to me,
    I hear him clearly.
    He says he’ll set me free—
    no need to beg or plead.

    But I don’t want ease.
    It’s the challenge I need.

    What comes easily
    is never worth the cost.
    What’s a dream
    if it means
    you lose your humanity?

    God… if you’re listening—
    can you hear me whispering?

    I’m not begging,
    I won’t plead,
    but I’m getting tired
    of having to bleed.

    I’ll be honest—
    I’m not sure if you’re real,
    but I think I used to feel you
    when things got too heavy,
    when life felt a little too rough.

    Back before
    life kind of fucked me up.

    There’s always
    a before and an after.
    Before—there was laughter.

    But that was last chapter.
    This one’s been
    a little too heavy.

    To leave?
    I’ve been a little too ready.

    I don’t mean
    leave permanently—
    I just want to be
    in a different scene.

    Somewhere I don’t feel
    at home through a screen.

    Have you felt
    out of place
    in a place
    that was supposed
    to be your home?

    And still—
    you felt alone…

    Not in a way
    that filled you with despair,
    but in a way
    that made you more aware.

    I’m not begging—
    just tired…
    and still choosing
    to stay.

    [Calculating Profits]
    Calculating Profits (Ledger of Lives) is a raw anti-war poem confronting how modern conflict is often reduced to statistics, strategy, and spectacle. Through stark imagery and direct language, Rowan Evans challenges the “us vs. them” narrative and reminds readers that behind every number in war’s ledger is a human life.