Author’s Note

This piece is about writing as both armor and confession.

For a long time, I’ve hidden what I feel inside metaphors, inside rhythm, inside lines that only certain people would recognize. Some secrets are meant for the page. Some are meant for one person.

Every poem that sounds like longing isn’t accidental. It’s practice.

Practice saying something plainly.

— Rowan Evans

Tattooed Pages
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Every time I sit
with eyes locked
on a blank page—
I feel like
I’m in therapy again.

And how does
that make you feel?

I don’t know,
I get a little sad sometimes.
Depression festers
inside the thoughts
in my mind,
anxiety lingers
twisting shadowed
fingers around my spine.

So I write—
Pouring thoughts
like shots; fragments,
shattered glass
scattered like my mind
gets sometimes.

So I write—
ink across the page,
like ink across the skin.
Tattooed pages,
holding whispered secrets
and trembling confessions—
sharing hard learned lessons.

I write to share
what you mean to me.
But I never say your name
in what I let them see.
Instead, I hide the signs
inside the lines—
secrets hidden in plain sight.

I’ve written conversations
between us—
real or made up,
for them to guess
and us to know.
I write to show
how much I—
let you linger
in my thoughts.

You mean so much to me,
and I just want you to know.
But I’m afraid to say
too much, so I let it slip
in subtle secrets.
Bit by bit, information drips—
I love your voice,
and the way you say my name.
Having you in my life
is worth more than fame.

Your attitude?
It’s perfection.
Anyone complaining
just has a skill issue.

(…they’re a little bitch.)

Maybe one day
I’ll stop hiding
behind metaphors
and coded lines.

But until then—
know that every poem
that sounds like longing
is me
learning how to say it plain.

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