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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: inner voice

  • When the Devil Speaks, I Listen – A Poem About Inner Voice and Self-Reflection

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece started with a simple idea—listening to something you’re told to ignore.

    But the more I sat with it, the less it felt like something external.

    There’s a voice you develop after spending enough time with your own thoughts. One that understands where you’ve been, what you’ve survived, and what you’ve learned to carry.

    It doesn’t filter itself the way you do.

    It doesn’t soften the truth.

    And that’s what makes it uncomfortable.

    We’re taught to silence that voice. To treat it like something separate, something dangerous.

    But sometimes, it’s not the enemy.

    Sometimes, it’s just you—without hesitation.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person writing in dim light with a shadow reflection symbolizing inner thoughts and darker self
    Some voices don’t lie. That’s why they’re hard to hear.

    When the Devil Speaks, I Listen
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I listen—
    when the devil talks,
    because he knows
    the paths I’ve walked.

    I’ve slept
    where shadows crept,
    made my bed in crypts.

    I’ve walked through rooms
    that felt like tombs—
    bled ink on pages,
    translated hurt
    into words.

    I listen
    when the devil talks,

    because I recognize
    he’s walked
    the same paths I’ve walked.

    He’s seen the places
    I’ve laid my head,
    the crypts
    I made home.

    He’s read the pages—
    stained
    with crimson ink.

    So yes—
    I listen,

    because I recognize
    the voice
    sounds like mine—
    just older,
    and less afraid to say it.

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

  • Grounded: A Poem About Dissociation, Memory, and Coming Back to Yourself

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece came from that disorienting in-between space—when your thoughts scatter, your body feels unreal, and you’re not sure how you got there. Sometimes it isn’t logic that brings you back. Sometimes it’s a voice. A laugh. A presence that reminds you who you are.

    A person sitting on a hospital floor under fluorescent lights, surrounded by sterile white walls, with a subtle warm glow suggesting grounding and emotional return.
    Sometimes all it takes is a voice to bring you back.

    Grounded
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Sterile white walls,
    fluorescent bulbs
    light the halls—
    I stumble
    and fall,
    sprawled
    across the floor.

    What was I
    even here for?

    Vision snaps.
    Vision blurs.
    Voices heard.

    I’m not alone.
    It’s me
    my thoughts
    and I—

    Flicker and fade,
    between here
    and anywhere.

    Voices echo.
    Voices linger.

    Touch—
    Soft and grounding,
    it brings me back
    to myself.

    Slowly. Blinking.
    It’s her voice…

    Her voice echoes,
    and reverberates.
    A giggle. A laugh.

    And I’m back.

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