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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: leaving home

  • Where the Tide Calls Me – A Poem About Letting Go, Belonging, and Following Your Path

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There’s a difference between feeling stuck… and being somewhere you were never meant to stay.

    For a long time, I couldn’t tell which one I was experiencing.

    It felt like I was standing still—like something in my life wasn’t moving forward, like I was waiting for a shift that never came. But the more I sat with that feeling, the more it started to change.

    It stopped feeling like stillness.

    And started feeling like resistance.

    This piece comes from that realization.

    That sometimes the discomfort isn’t because you’re lost—
    it’s because something in you is trying to move, and you haven’t let it yet.

    Not every path is meant to be walked on solid ground.

    Some of them ask you to trust the pull…
    and step into something uncertain.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person walking into the ocean at sunset symbolizing following a personal path and embracing change.
    Some of us aren’t meant to stay on land—we’re meant to follow the tide wherever it leads.

    Where the Tide Calls Me
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Do you ever feel stuck?
    Like you could stand on the ledge,
    overlooking everything
    and just scream—

    Do you ever feel
    you’re all out of luck?
    No matter how hard you try,
    it’s still a struggle to get by.

    Like the shores
    you walk,
    were never your own.

    The waves would talk,
    whispering of home.
    A land far away
    from where I was born.

    The world keeps saying
    this is where I belong,
    but the sea says otherwise.

    So I—
    wade into the waves,
    praying for better days,
    searching for a new place.

    Eyes focused.

    Ears turned
    and listening.

    I used to feel stuck—
    like the ledge was the only place
    I could breathe.

    But now,
    with the water rising around my feet,
    I finally understand:

    I was never meant
    to stand above the world
    and scream.

    I was meant
    to follow the tide.

    I walk deeper,
    letting the water rise—
    because some of us
    aren’t called
    to stay on land.

    And when the waves call—
    I answer.

    Not with fear,
    not with doubt,
    but with the quiet certainty
    that home
    is not where I started…

    but where the tide
    is pulling me.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [I Was Already On My Way]
    What if the places that call to you aren’t random? I Was Already On My Way explores identity, travel, and the realization that some paths have been forming long before we recognize them.

    [121° East]
    A single line of longitude becomes something more—a reflection of distance, identity, and the quiet decision to become who you were always meant to be.

    [The Quiet Inside the Noise]
    What happens when a restless mind finally quiets—not by silence, but by focusing on one person? The Quiet Inside the Noise explores love, fixation, and finding calm in connection.

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

  • I Was Already On My Way – A Poem About Identity, Travel, and Finding Your Direction

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some things don’t arrive all at once.

    They show up in fragments–small moments, passing interests, people you meet, places that linger in your thoughts longer than they should.

    At first, it feels random.

    Disconnected.

    But over time, patterns start to form.

    This piece comes from recognizing one of those patterns.

    Looking back and realizing that what felt like curiosity… was actually direction. That the pull I kept feeling wasn’t new–it was something that had been building quietly for years.

    And maybe that’s what alignment feels like.

    Not a sudden shift.

    But a slow realization that you’ve been moving toward something long before you understood why.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person standing at a crossroads with signs pointing toward distant cities symbolizing life direction and travel.
    Some paths don’t begin when you choose them—they’ve been forming long before you realize you’re on them.

    They say—
    you’re an American,
    you can’t change it.
    It runs through the blood,
    burrows in the marrow.
    You’re an American today,
    you’ll be one tomorrow.

    Sure—
    that’s true.

    American is the label
    I wear.

    But it’s not the one
    I claim.

    These are the lands
    I was born in—
    but they’ve never
    been home.

    I’ve known
    since I was fourteen
    I was meant
    to leave.

    Started planning
    at seventeen.

    Eighteen—
    applied for a job
    in Japan.

    I pictured
    walking Tokyo’s streets,
    slipping through alleyways—

    a quiet life
    in a city alive.

    Nineteen—
    felt the pull
    of Korea,
    the hum of Seoul
    in my soul.

    Twenty—
    I wandered China
    in my mind.

    But it never felt
    quite right.

    So I kept searching,
    listening
    to the shifts
    inside.

    And then—

    a pattern emerged.

    I didn’t notice it
    at first.

    Manila.
    The Philippines.

    A thread
    that’s been there
    since I was eighteen.

    Subtle—
    at the start.

    Two kids
    I took
    under my wing.

    That’s how it began.

    And then it kept appearing—
    in the friends
    I met online,

    in the people
    I was drawn to.

    It felt like
    a magnetic pull.

    In the last year—
    maybe more—

    it’s become stronger
    than ever before.

    And somewhere
    in that pull—

    is her.

    Not the reason—

    but proof

    that I was already
    on my way.

    This doesn’t feel
    like curiosity anymore.

    It feels like alignment.

    Like something in me
    has been pointing
    in one direction
    all along—

    and I’m only now
    choosing
    to follow it.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [121° East]
    A single line of longitude becomes something more—a reflection of distance, identity, and the quiet decision to become who you were always meant to be.

    [Coordinated of Escape]
    A deeply introspective poem about overthinking, emotional loops, and the desire to start over. Coordinates of Escape traces the journey from internal chaos to a deliberate destination—both physical and personal.

    [Of No Single Nation]
    What if belonging isn’t tied to where you’re from? Of No Single Nation explores identity beyond borders, reframing home as something found in connection rather than geography.

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

  • Roots & Wings – A Poem About Leaving, Growth, and New Horizons | Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes a place stops feeling like home long before you actually leave it. The streets still know your name, but something in you has already begun drifting toward another horizon.

    This poem came from that feeling – the quiet moment you realize your roots are no longer meant for the soil you’re standing in. It’s not always about running away; sometimes it’s about allowing yourself to grow somewhere new.

    Roots & Wings sits in that space between leaving and becoming. Between the life that shaped you and the one waiting somewhere beyond the horizon.

    We carry out roots with us, even when we learn how to fly.

    — Rowan Evans

    A bird flying toward the sunset above palm trees and the ocean, symbolizing freedom and new beginnings.
    Sometimes growth means planting new roots—and trusting your wings to find the horizon.

    Roots & Wings
    Poetry by Rowan Evans
    (written February 18th, 2025)

    These streets whisper my name, but I no longer listen,
    my roots ache for softer soil, where the sun glistens.
    I’ll plant myself where the palms embrace the sea,
    then let the wind carry what’s left of me—
    a bird unbound, chasing horizons yet unseen.

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

  • Still Tilting Elsewhere | A Poem About Leaving, Longing, and Becoming

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some people grow up knowing exactly where they belong.
    Others grow up carrying a quiet sense of elsewhere—something felt long before it’s understood.

    This piece traces that feeling as it moved through me over time: the early moments of disconnection, the private planning, the slow patience of a dream that never burned out. It isn’t about leaving a place as much as it is about realizing that orientation matters more than arrival.

    Not all rebellions are loud.
    Some of them are lived quietly, for years, while you learn how to wait without letting the dream die.

    A person standing at dusk, facing a distant horizon with a compass motif in the sky, symbolizing longing and the pull toward somewhere else.
    Some dreams don’t disappear.
    They learn how to wait.

    Still Tilting Elsewhere
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I find myself
    drifting through my thoughts,
    not lost this time.

    I remember fourteen.
    Hi Hi Puffy—
    Ami and Yumi on the screen,
    seeing Tokyo streets,
    thinking “I hate this place.”
    It was the first time
    I felt the disconnect.

    Suddenly,
    I was hyperaware—
    I didn’t belong here.

    I remember fifteen.
    The first time
    I started planning.
    The first time
    I dreamed of jet engines,
    of taking off,
    making escape.

    I remember sixteen.
    Started speaking,
    manifesting—
    wishing it into existence.
    I remember seventeen,
    when my dream,
    became a quiet rebellion.

    And I was
    only becoming
    more aware,
    I didn’t belong here.

    I remember eighteen.
    Applying for a job,
    I knew I wouldn’t get.
    Simply for the chance to split.
    It was more about the “what if’s,”
    what if they saw something—
    what if they took a chance?

    And then—
    found family
    from the Philippines.
    Two girls of thirteen,
    they became like nieces to me.
    They were the spark
    that stoked the ember,
    that would simmer
    just beneath the surface.

    It’s been
    eighteen years
    since then.

    Eighteen years,
    and the ember never cooled.
    It lived in the quiet places—
    behind decisions,
    beneath routines,
    inside every map I drew
    that didn’t include here.

    And the dream didn’t fade.
    It learned patience.
    It learned silence.
    It learned to wait
    without dying.

    Now,
    I feel the shift again—
    the same quiet pull,
    the same soft rebellion,
    older now,
    but no less certain.

    I still carry that fourteen-year-old
    like a compass in my chest.
    I carry that seventeen-year-old
    like a promise I haven’t kept yet.
    I’ve grown,
    but the compass never changed.
    Every version of me
    still tilts toward somewhere…
    else.

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