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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: Kintsugi

  • The Ink Hasn’t Changed | A Poem About Healing, Growth & Writing to Survive by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I sometimes look back at the person I was when I first started writing and wonder how much of that younger version of me is still sitting somewhere inside every poem I create. I started writing at thirteen, the same year I experienced my first heartbreak. Back then, ink wasn’t simply a creative outlet. It was a way to hold myself together, to give shape to feelings I didn’t know how to carry, and to leave a record of myself on the page when I was afraid of losing pieces of who I was.

    The Ink Hasn’t Changed is about revisiting those beginnings without confusing familiarity with stagnation. The same emotions still find their way into my work: joy, grief, anger, tenderness, laughter, and pain. I’ve continued mapping my soul through poetry, stitching together broken pieces and filling the cracks with whatever gold I could find. The tools and materials may feel familiar, but the person doing the stitching is not the same.

    There’s a difference between carrying the same weight and never moving forward. Sometimes, growth means discovering that the thing that once kept you alive can become something you choose to nurture, refine, and share.

    My ink hasn’t changed because its purpose never needed to. I have changed. I’ve survived. And the words that once helped me hold myself together now help me understand who I’ve become.

    — Rowan Evans

    An adult poet reflects beside a translucent younger version of herself at a writing desk with black and golden ink, a cracked bowl repaired with gold, and map-like patterns symbolizing healing and personal growth.
    The ink that helped me survive at thirteen still carries my truth at thirty-six. The ink hasn’t changed. I have.

    The Ink Hasn’t Changed
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ve been stuck in the past a lot lately,
    just thinking about who I was—
    who I was trying to become
    and how those early days
    set the stage for who I became,
    on and off the page.

    The same year
    I committed myself to ink,
    I tasted my first heartbreak—
    it was bitter sweet,
    hated that it had to come,
    but nothing could be done.
    That was 2003, I was thirteen—
    and she was made to leave.

    I took the shattered pieces,
    collected in a basket—
    I took threads of silver
    and sewed myself
    back together again.
    Cracks patched with gold and ink,
    confessions penned in golden ink—

    back then
    I wrote for me—
    I wrote to keep it together,
    mentally—
    afraid I’d disappear
    if I didn’t map my soul in ink.

    Turned poetry to cartography,
    started mapping the whole of me.
    I mapped my soul, wholly—
    turned my pain holy.
    I tried to translate all of me—
    the joy, the pain,
    laughter and grief—
    and my ink hasn’t changed.

    It’s still carrying the same things.
    All the same weight, wait—
    does that mean I’m stuck in place?

    No, just because the ink
    has stayed the same—
    doesn’t mean I have—I’ve changed,
    I’m not the same as I was at thirteen,
    now that I’m thirty-six—
    and I’m not the same as I was at sixteen,
    that’s when I thought my ink was real mean—
    but really it was too nice,
    the only thing keeping me alive.

    Journey into the Hexverse

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

  • My Nightmare | A Poem About Love, Distance, Hope, and Kintsugi

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some nightmares aren’t about monsters.

    Sometimes the nightmare is waking up and realizing that the person you want beside you is standing beneath a completely different sky.

    My Nightmare comes from that place—the uneasy space between memory and hope, between what once felt shared and what now feels impossibly far away. It is a poem about distance, but not only the physical kind. There is distance between perspectives, between hearts, between the lives we imagine and the lives we are actually living.

    Still, even nightmares have endings.

    Sometimes you wake up before they become permanent.

    And sometimes, even while dreaming, you can still see a little gold threaded through the cracks.

    — Rowan Evans

    Two distant figures stand on separate shores beneath different moons, connected across the dark ocean by faint golden and platinum threads.
    Two shores. Two skies. One horizon—and enough gold left to believe they might meet there.

    My Nightmare
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    This is my nightmare.

    You and I across the distance,
    the view that we see is different—
    your moon from my sky
    is missing—
    the sun no longer shines,
    it’s dimming—

    I don’t see the spark anymore—
    don’t see the light in the dark anymore.
    What do I even I write for?
    I lost my purpose—think I did it on purpose,
    it’s like I can’t rhyme anymore,
    no clock, no watch, can’t tell time anymore.

    This is my nightmare.

    You and I across the distance,
    the view that we see is different—
    my moon is sickly pale,
    but yours seems fine though—
    the sun doesn’t provide light,
    it’s gotten real low—

    in times before, this is when
    I would Kintsugi the heart—
    but there’s not much heart left,
    it’s all gold—soft metal,
    softer soul—stayed warm,
    when the world grew cold.

    This is my nightmare.

    You and I across the distance,
    the view that we see is different—
    when we used to be,
    two pieces the puzzle
    was missing—
    the sun in the sky was fine,
    but it dimmed in our shine—

    I’ve spent time doing Kintsugi
    on your heart too—it was hard not to,
    gold and platinum weaved through—
    I really did see you, flaws and all—
    and all I saw was a gift from God.

    I still don’t think—
    I was wrong.

    But that was my nightmare…

    You and I across the distance,
    the view that we saw was different—
    but I still see the gold threads that connect,
    the platinum hope on the horizon,
    that one day the distance will close—
    and we’ll walk the same shore,
    it won’t be—

    mine and yours.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Dreaming Wrong]
    A familiar dream becomes unsettling when the ocean becomes a pond, the tide disappears, the moon loses its reflection, and nothing feels quite like it belongs. Dreaming Wrong explores the uncanny feeling of finding yourself inside a dream that looks familiar—but feels like someone else’s.

    [Poet’s Curse]
    Poet’s Curse explores the painful side of falling too deeply: giving pieces of yourself away freely, taking accountability for your own heartbreak, and realizing that learning to let go can be harder than learning to love.

    [Beach to Beach]
    A dream becomes a journey between familiar shores and unfamiliar cities in Beach to Beach (How I Get There), a poem about imagined travel, ocean crossings, longing, and the places we hope to someday reach while awake.

    [Where the Metaphors Lead]
    Some truths are easier to write than they are to say aloud. “Where the Metaphors Lead” explores the quiet space between dreams, confession, and the courage it takes to let another person know how deeply they’ve become woven into your inner world.

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

  • mabuti ako ng hindi ako mabuti – Poem by Rowan Evans | Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Mabuti ako ng hindi ako mabuti was born from that familiar ache of being awake while the world sleeps—the quiet, heavy solitude of overthinking and feeling too much. It’s about seeing the beauty in others while struggling to recognize it in yourself, about cracks, missing pieces, and the weight of empathy in a world that can feel cold.

    The poem weaves together languages, not by accident but by instinct: the Tagalog line as both title and closing heartbeat, grounding the piece in a personal, intimate voice; and my youthful “Nani the fuck?”—a playful, yet sharp, reflection of confusion and disbelief, a nod to my early fascination with Japanese and the way language can capture emotion in a single exclamation.

    This is a poem about exhaustion, insomnia, and the unrelenting pressure of a sensitive heart. It’s also about holding space for yourself the way you hold space for others—learning to see your own gold, even when the lanterns have burned out and the path is dark.

    Solitary figure sitting on bed in dimly lit room, hands covering face, shadows cast across cracked walls with scattered glowing Kintsugi fragments on the floor, evoking introspection and emotional struggle.
    Even in darkness and brokenness, fragments of unseen beauty remain.

    Mabuti Ako ng Hindi Ako Mabuti
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I stand before the mirror—
    and all I see, staring back at me
    are cracks.
    I’m just a broken mess,
    a bowl full of holes—
    too big to mend with gold.

    I’ve got—
    too many missing pieces.
    Too many pieces left behind.
    There’s no Kintsugi here.
    No witnesses near.

    Shaking hands and tear stained face,
    I’m so alone, always alone.
    Even with people around.

    All my relationships—
    The color of autumn.
    People leave.

    Now I ask—
    why can’t I see the beauty
    in my own imperfections?
    Why do I only hold that view,
    for everyone but me?
    Why can’t I see?
    Why am I so blind to me?

    And I feel stuck in the dark.
    My laterns burned out,
    I’m wandering lost.
    Is this the cost—
    for being a gentle soul like me?

    The world wasn’t made for me—
    I’m too warm for apathy,
    I cling to empathy like a life vest.
    I give weary souls a place to rest,
    but nowhere for me to lay my head…
    So I stay up instead.

    Insomnia has a hold on me. 
    I’ve stayed up for two days— 
    in one twenty-four hour period. 
    How does that add up? 
    But that’s the math. 
    Don’t laugh. Don’t ask.
    Nani the fuck?

    Yet still, people ask,
    “How are you doing?”
    I say, mabuti ako
    ng hindi ako mabuti.

    If you enjoyed this poem, check out more of my work [here].

  • Pulled Away Again – Confessional Poem on Friendship, Guilt, and Self-Doubt | Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Pulled Away Again came from that quiet guilt that builds when you fade from people you love—not because you’ve stopped caring, but because you’re too tangled in your own thoughts to reach out. It’s about the strange duality of existing in someone’s life and yet feeling like a ghost in it, the ache of being remembered and forgotten at the same time. I wrote this as a kind of apology, but not to anyone specific. It’s for all the friendships I’ve let drift away, for all the messages I’ve left unanswered, for every time I thought silence would hurt less than presence… for every time I thought existing in my head was easier than simply existing in the world.

    A solitary figure dissolving into shadows, with golden light tracing cracks across them, symbolizing introspection, isolation, and the hidden beauty of brokenness.
    “Pulled Away Again – exploring the delicate ache of distance, memory, and friendship through introspection and confession.”

    Pulled Away Again
    (Schrödinger’s Friendship)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Fuck… I pulled away again—
    disappeared into shadows,
    became a bad friend.

    I don’t keep in touch,
    and I know it sucks.
    But,
    what am I supposed to say?
    I’m sorry,
    but you’ll tell me
    I don’t need to apologize…

    And I know,
    the sorry’s not for you.
    It’s for me,
    because I feel like a bad friend.
    I feel like the sad friend.

    The…
    nobody really
    wants around friend.

    The giver,
    the lover,
    the seer
    of broken things.
    The seer of beauty
    in all the broken things.

    I see the gold
    that fills the cracks.
    But only in others.
    Those Kintsugi souls,
    they shine so bright.

    While I just feel trapped…
    while I sit here still cracked,
    pieces scattered, never put back
    together.

    Fuck…
    I pulled away again,
    isolated, faded from perception.
    Because I feel…
    You’re better off without me.

    I’ll amount to nothing,
    And I know
    I’m not the only one
    that doubts me.

    Fuck…
    I don’t keep in touch,
    and I know it sucks.
    Yeah, I know,
    every—
    I’m sorry…
    It’s not for you.
    It’s for me.

    Because I feel
    like I’m a bad friend.
    The out of sight
    out of mind friend.
    The one nobody remembers,
    but somehow not forgotten.

    It’s a—
    Schrödinger’s Friendship.
    I’m both in your life
    and not.
    I am just walking rot.

    Sorry for everything
    I’ve never said,
    sorry for every moment,
    every thought.
    Especially the thoughts
    I thought I forgot.

    I’m sorry for the way
    I fade
    into obscurity.
    You’re always on mind
    but I’m afraid
    of what I’ll say.

    Will today be the day?
    Will I finally I slip up?
    Say something stupid,
    and fuck it up?
    Be just another disappointment—
    A regret etched in history,
    a blemish on an otherwise
    positive memory.

    I’m a face
    you can’t place.
    A name
    that rings no bells,
    rings no memory.
    I am
    my own
    worst enemy.

    If you’ve made it this far, why don’t you check out more of my work? You can find the full library [here].

  • Kintsugi Our Souls Together | Love Poem for the Ruined, the Rising, the Reverent

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This is for the broken and the rising. For the ones who have loved through scars, and shone through shadow. Kintsugi Our Souls Together is a love letter to the beauty in brokenness—and the gold that binds us when we choose to mend, together.

    Illustration of two broken figures repaired with gold veins, floating among stars, representing cosmic love and healing.
    Kintsugi souls: rising holy from the fractures of our past.

    Kintsugi Our Souls Together
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    You say you’re broken.
    Baby—me too.
    Not just cracked,
    but scattered like constellations
    ripped from the sky,
    fragments of light
    drenched in shadow.

    We are star-born ruins—
    cosmic,
    bruised,
    beautiful in our wreckage.
    Galaxies of grief
    swirl behind our eyes,
    but still—
    baby, we shine.

    So let’s gather the remnants,
    each jagged edge,
    each silent scream.
    Let’s stitch our scars
    with molten gold,
    Kintsugi our souls
    until pain becomes pattern,
    and every fracture
    sings with sacred heat.

    I want to know your ache—
    wear it like velvet on my skin,
    learn the shape of your sorrow
    until it fits inside my ribcage.
    We’ll build a throne from bones
    of yesterday’s despair,
    a palace of ash and stars,
    lit by the heavens
    that watched us burn.

    No crowns needed.

    Just you and me—
    flawed,
    fierce,
    whole in our brokenness.
    Treasures made
    from what the world discarded.
    Proof that ruin
    can still rise—
    holy.

    So let the world call us ruins—
    Let them say we should’ve shattered.
    They don’t see the gold in our veins,
    the way we gleam—
    Kintsugi souls…
    even in the dark.

    Visit The Library of Ashes to find more of my work…