This piece came from that subtle shift — the moment when someone stops being just a presence in your life and starts becoming a direction. It’s about the quiet work that happens behind the scenes, the way you start rearranging your habits, your thoughts, your intentions, not because you’re trying to impress someone, but because you genuinely want to meet them where they are.
It’s not a confession.
It’s not a promise.
It’s an acknowledgment.
A recognition that connection isn’t built in grand gestures, but in patience, consistency, and the willingness to grow into someone who can hold another person’s trust. This poem is me naming that process — the slow, steady movement toward “us,” whatever shape that eventually takes.
Sometimes love isn’t a leap — it’s a steady walk in the same direction.
Working Toward Us Poetry by Rowan Evans
It’s strange,
the way things can change—
the way a single person
can make you want to
rearrange everything.
Isn’t it strange?
The way someone can
sit right there
on the tip of the
tongue.
Isn’t it something?
When every word
spoken
becomes a love token,
simply because
it carries a piece of them too.
And every word written
takes the shape
of her silhouette.
Because when my pen
hits the page,
it’s like a brush
dancing across canvas.
I try to capture
the beautiful hues
of a soul in motion,
with nothing but ink
and observation.
Learning everything I can
through conversation.
I want to understand…
I’m patient.
But I want you to know,
I’m working toward us—
whatever shape that takes,
I want to be
somebody
you can truly trust.
Somebody
you can lean on
when things get
a little too rough.
I’m working toward
you and I, walking
the same streets.
You and I, side by side
enjoying life.
This poem is about devotion without submission, and love without surrendering your voice. It’s not about violence or divinity—it’s about resolve. About the kind of care that doesn’t beg to be heard, but stands firm and says: this matters.
I Meant It lives in the space where fear turns into courage, where love doesn’t make you smaller—it makes you louder.
— Rowan Evans
Love doesn’t always kneel. Sometimes, it stands its ground.
I Meant It Poetry by Rowan Evans
Every time I said
I’d box God for you,
I meant it.
If the weight
doesn’t lift,
I’ll go ballistic—
kicking the pearly gates
off their hinges.
I’ll walk in,
ready to stand on business.
I won’t beg, won’t plead—
I’ll stand in defiance,
ready to riot.
But I won’t take
the first swing.
I’ll just make sure
they know,
it’s you—
I’m doing this for.
Because,
the truth is—
You make me brave,
in ways
I didn’t know
I could be.
And—
it’s because of you
my voice sings now.
Because of you,
I can be loud.
I can stand
and say,
what I mean now.
This poem came from a moment I didn’t expect—where wanting something and resisting it existed at the same time. It’s about consent without force, surrender without demand, and the strange vulnerability of realizing how easily someone can reach you simply by asking
Sometimes surrender isn’t taken—it’s given.
Two Words Poetry by Rowan Evans
I’ve never felt like this before—
never felt this loss of control.
Two words
and I can’t stop it.
Two words
and I just speak.
That’s all it takes for me.
I get a thought,
I hint at the thought—
Say it, she said.
So I said it.
I didn’t want to.
She didn’t make me.
She just asks
and I fold.
This poem is about wanting a partner who doesn’t try to tame your chaos—but understands it, challenges it, and chooses it anyway. Waiting for My Harley isn’t about obsession or imbalance; it’s about mutual fire, movement, and the kind of love that refuses to let either person grow stagnant.
Some hearts aren’t meant to be tamed—only met.
Waiting for My Harley Poetry by Rowan Evans
I’m just a Joker,
with a heart
wrapped in Ivy.
A little insane,
looking for the
insane that’ll stand
beside me.
I’m looking for my Harley.
The one that’ll push me,
will never let me stay static,
hardly.
She can—
match my chaos,
match my flame.
She can—
hold the chaos
in my name.
I’m just a Joker,
with a heart
wrapped in Ivy.
An open spot
in my heart,
waiting for my Harley.
Shadows and Stars grew out of that quiet kind of love that doesn’t ask for transformation—only truth. It’s a devotion rooted in darkness as much as light, where two imperfect people find a rhythm that doesn’t require saving or fixing, just seeing. This poem is about loving someone exactly as they are—the sharp edges, the softness, the chaos, the fire—and trusting that the right souls don’t dilute each other. They orbit together.
Two souls, bound by gravity and devotion, meeting where shadow and starlight become one.
Shadows and Stars Poetry by Rowan Evans
I am not here to save you,
because I am no savior.
And you—
you are no damsel in distress,
you’re just stressed.
Life might be
somewhat of a mess,
but you’re still worth it,
nonetheless.
And I’m not here to fix you,
because you’re not a fixer-upper.
You’re a person—
complex and perfect
in your imperfections.
Your darkness
matches mine.
I find,
in these shadows,
we’re two of a kind,
you and I.
No, I don’t want to change you.
Why would I want to change you?
To change you would be to
sand down the edges I’ve come to love.
You see—
I love it when you’re mean.
I love the bite, the burn, the sting.
I love when you talk shit,
spit venom.
You say you’re crazy? I love that too.
I love the attitude, the dominance you exude,
and I love it when you’re gentle.
It’s simple—
it’s you. It’s always been.
Two stars, orbit in tandem.
And here we stay,
constellations intertwined,
your shadows in my light,
my darkness in your shine.
Some love is written in whispers, some in roars. Some love challenges you, confounds you, makes you question everything you thought you knew about desire, trust, and devotion. This piece is for that kind of love—the kind that doesn’t ask for perfection, but for honesty. The kind that turns what the world sees as flaws into the most beautiful invitations, the most sacred of green lights.
It’s about seeing someone fully, leaning in when others might run, and finding that the very things that could push you away are the things you are drawn to most. These are the red flags that are secretly green, the chaos that feels like home, the complexity that makes your heart stretch wide enough to hold another soul.
Read it as confession. Read it as celebration. Read it as a permission slip for intimacy, wildness, and trust.
The green flags hidden within the chaos—intimacy, trust, and love in their rawest forms.
Green Flags in Disguise Poetry by Rowan Evans (Written April 29th, 2025)
You laid your cards down one by one—
Red flags, you called them.
Warnings.
Not to scare me off,
just to see if I’d run.
I didn’t. I leaned in.
“Anger issues?”
You’ve been gaslit, babe—
called volatile for daring to feel
in a world that only makes room
for men to explode.
But your rage? It’s sacred fire.
I’d build temples in the ashes.
That’s not a flaw. That’s clarity.
Every time you cursed “idiot,”
my heart stuttered with how right it felt.
Why is this so attractive?
Call me weird—
But everything you thought made you unlovable
is exactly what I love.
“Paranoia?”
Please. I get it.
You’ve been betrayed by the hands that held you.
I’ve lived the same kind of quiet, twitching dread.
So if you need to ask questions twice, or ten times—
ask.
I won’t judge.
I’ll just stay.
“Possessive?”
Yes, please.
Own me.
Call me yours with your whole chest.
Claim every piece of me with teeth and intent.
I won’t run—I’ll beg for more.
Mark me. Mold me.
Make me forget who I was
before I belonged to you.
“Jealous?”
God, it’s hot.
Not the petty kind, not the toxic kind—
The kind that says you matter to me so much it scares me.
I wouldn’t ever give you a reason to doubt.
But if I slipped up…
I’d want to be punished.
Yes, I’m that kind of submissive.
“Strict?”
Say less.
Tell me what to do.
Correct me when I misstep.
Guide me with that edge in your voice—
the one that makes my knees forget how to be knees.
I was made for this.
For you.
“Unpredictable?”
That’s not a red flag.
That’s spontaneity.
That’s adventure.
That’s yes, let’s burn the script and make our own.
You bring the chaos—I’ll bring the trust.
“A bitch at times?”
Be one more.
Be unapologetic.
Be brutal when it calls for it.
The world tried to tame you.
Let me be the one who tells you not to flinch.
Your sharpness is beautiful.
Cut me, and I’ll bleed loyalty.
“Sarcastic?”
Perfect.
Fluent in sarcasm.
It’s our dialect now.
Trade jabs with me until it turns to kisses.
Be wicked with your words—I’ll turn them into poems.
“A little selfish?”
Good. Be selfish.
Take what you want.
You deserve that, and more.
You deserve someone who doesn’t flinch when you demand,
someone who smiles when you dominate.
You want a submissive partner?
I’m kneeling already.
You just didn’t notice.
Every “yes, ma’am,”
every “tell me what you need”—
That was me offering myself on a velvet platter.
And I’ll keep offering,
if you’ll keep taking.
“A little sadist?”
Your nails, your teeth, your whispered sins—
I crave them.
I want your bite to outlast the bruises.
I want your darkness to stretch its limbs across me
until I can’t tell where I end and you begin.
“Loves darkness?”
Darling.
I was born in it, too.
We don’t have to be afraid of each other’s shadows.
We light them.
So no.
I don’t see red.
I see you.
And maybe I’m colorblind—
maybe I’ve got protanomaly, babe—
because all I see is green.
Green like go.
Green like yes.
Green like marry me.
Yeah, I said it.
I know you’ll probably get smug,
or tease me,
or roast the hell out of me for this—
but I’m ready.
Test me again.
I’ll pass.
Every time.
Suggested Reads
[My Red Flags]— A Dark Romance Poem About Loving the Dangerous “You told me you had anger issues. But I’ve only seen you furious in defense—a saint of righteous fire.”
‘My Red Flags’ is a confession disguised as a love spell. In this dark romantic poem, Rowan Evans turns every warning sign into worship—an ode to danger, devotion, and the art of loving without fear of burning.
If you would like to check out more of my work, you can find it here in the archives: The Library of Ashes
This poem is me flexing. Not for anyone else—just for myself, for the part of me that has been writing for 22 years, quietly, consistently, and passionately. I Write is a celebration of range, of defiance, of unapologetic ego in the face of naysayers.
It’s for the poets who refuse to shrink, the writers who keep creating even when no one’s watching, and anyone who’s ever been told “you can’t” or “you wouldn’t.”
Poetry has always been my sword and my sanctuary, my rebellion and my worship. Here, I wield both unapologetically.
— Rowan Evans
Bold, unapologetic, and overflowing with creative power—I Write by Rowan Evans.
I Write Poetry by Rowan Evans
I write love.
I write pain.
I write erotic.
I write tame.
I write rage.
I write whimsy.
I’ve got range—
and they can’t stand me.
They said I couldn’t do it—
so I fuckin’ did it anyway.
They said I wouldn’t do it—
so I did it in their fuckin’ face.
You say you write poems too?
Then why’d your girl message me—
said she read my romantic shit,
wishing somebody would write like that for her.
I responded simply—
that’s what she deserves.
Worship in words.
A poem that told her
what she’s worth.
She said, “my man’s a poet,
But he don’t write like you.”
I responded with an ego—
“Yeah, nobody do.”
I mean, does…
‘Cause nobody does it like me.
I said—
I could write you
a poem.
Or two.
Maybe three.
Four, if you like.
A thousand more.
Rhyme it.
Free verse it.
Doesn’t matter.
I’ll do it all.
And that’s when—
Your man said I couldn’t do it—
so I fuckin’ did it anyway.
He said I wouldn’t do it—
so I did it in his fuckin’ face.
Yeah.
Nobody.
Does it like me.
So I did it
in their fuckin’ face.
And I’d do it again.
If you want to see the full range of what I write, and discover the full breadth of my poetry in The Library of Ashes—an archive of ink-stained devotion, dark petals, and threshold poems that linger long after the last candle flickers.Visit The Library of Ashes →
Sometimes love sits just behind the teeth—aching to be said, yet held back by care, timing, or fear of changing what already feels sacred. I Love— (A Dam About to Break) was born from that space between silence and confession, from a dream that lingered like static under the skin.
It’s not about saying the words out loud. It’s about honoring what they mean, and recognizing the quiet pressure of emotion when it’s both too much and not enough.
This is a poem about restraint, longing, and the kind of connection that hums quietly beneath the surface—steady, dangerous, and deeply human.
“Even silence trembles when the heart is full.” — Visual concept for “I Love— (A Dam About to Break)” by Rowan Evans.
I Love— (A Dam About to Break) Poetry by Rowan Evans
I crashed— Two hours. A nap. Awoke to the residue, the images faded. Obscure. Background haze. The only clear picture— Your face. The feelings clear. Safe. Close. Anxious. Our connection, and the words on the tip of my tongue.
“I love—”
the idea of getting close to you, as friends of course. (And maybe more.) I try to change the course of my thoughts. (They always circle back.) The words linger, like a rug burn— or the water pressing against the wall of a dam. A dam quickly weakening. About to break, about to flood. (Evacuate the valley below.)
Just know— I don’t take it lightly, the trust you put in me. That’s all I ever wanted— was to earn that, to know that you saw me— saw I was true, and there for you. Like I said I always would be. Always will be. I’m still not going anywhere, still not gonna leave.
And I’ve got so much I want to say. It rests right there, on the tip of my tongue. Even my lips refuse to stay closed— and words slip through. I just wanna say—
“I love—”
how close we’ve gotten over the last year. I can’t wait until we can be face to face, side by side. I know it’ll be the best time of my life, and I hope it’ll be yours too. Because you deserve it, a moment of peace, a moment of clarity. And I don’t say that out of pity or charity, I mean it. With every fiber of my being, I truly mean it.
And if I could say everything I want to say, maybe things would change. But I’m trying to keep restraint— because I don’t want to add pressure or stress. The asshole does enough that. I just want to be— one of many reasons you smile. I don’t need to be the only one. I don’t need to be the core source of your happiness. (I just want to be part of it.) So please, try to believe when I say…
“I love—”
Everything about you. There is not a thing I would change, or rearrange. Your attitude is perfection. The way you talk your shit, I love it. (No really, I do.) You say you’re crazy? Well I love that too. (Your crazy makes me accept mine.)
If the first vow was silence, this one is surrender. It’s the echo that follows devotion — love as burden willingly shouldered, as ache freely chosen. Where the first vow offered peace, this one offers endurance.
It’s the second breath of a promise I never meant to make out loud — that I would take the weight from the shoulders of the one I love, not because I’m strong enough, but because I must. Because love, in its truest form, is not selfless — it is shared suffering, shared salvation.
I meant every word of the first vow. And this one, too.
“Love is not selfless — it is shared suffering, shared salvation.” — Rowan Evans
I Love You (Enough to Break Willingly) Poetry by Rowan Evans
To let the ink run dry, that’s what I said. I’d give my voice for your smile. And I meant it too.
But even more than that, I’d break willingly for you.
Give me the weight, the pressure that you carry. I’ll hoist it on my back, I’ll walk with you. Let your steps be lighter, let your mind find ease for a while.
I’d carry it all, even if it breaks me. ‘Cause I’d break willingly…
This is the second vow— that I’ll never say outloud, but still I’ll prove it… I’ll prove it, somehow. If it meant your life was a breeze, I’d let it pull me to my knees. I’d bend and break for you.
Even more than that, I’d break willingly.
The Silent Vows
I Love You (Enough to Go Silent) A vow written in ink and silence — a confession of love so deep it would sacrifice its own voice to spare another’s tears. “I Love You (Enough to Go Silent)” is a Neo-Gothic devotion from Rowan Evans, where the act of not speaking becomes the loudest declaration of love.
Perfection is not about erasing cracks, hiding shadows, or smoothing edges until nothing is left. It’s about recognizing the light that lives within the cracks, the beauty that thrives alongside the flaws.
This poem is for anyone who has been told they’re “too much,” “not enough,” or “broken.” You are all of it — and still worthy of being loved exactly as you are. And sometimes, being perfect is less about the world seeing it, and more about the one person who truly does.
“Even the cracks hold light — a reminder that perfection is found in the perfectly imperfect.”
Perfect — For Me Poetry by Rowan Evans
When I say you’re perfect, I don’t mean you have no flaws.
When I say you’re perfect, I mean you’re perfectly imperfect— Your flaws mirror mine.
When I say you’re perfect, I mean you’re perfectly imperfect… and that’s beautifully divine.
When I say you’re perfect, what I really mean is… you’re perfect — for me.
If this piece resonated with you—check out more of my work in The Library of Ashes, my living archives.
Poetry by Rowan Evans 