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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: Love-Poetry

  • Recognizes Home | A Free-Verse Poem About Choice, Love, and Emotional Independence

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece started with a playlist.

    Or rather, it started with me noticing a pattern.

    Song after song seemed to describe love as dependency. The lyrics were filled with desperation, pleading, promises of collapse, and declarations that life would somehow become impossible if the other person left.

    And I realized I’ve never experienced love that way.

    For a long time, I wondered if that meant something was wrong with me.

    Because so many stories teach us that love is need. That devotion is measured by how completely another person becomes necessary to your survival. That the strongest relationships are the ones where people can’t function without each other.

    But that has never been what I wanted.

    I’ve never wanted to be someone’s oxygen.

    I’ve never wanted to be the reason someone can stand upright, nor have I wanted another person to become the only thing keeping me standing.

    What I’ve always been drawn to is something quieter and, in some ways, more difficult:

    Choice.

    The conscious decision to remain.

    The decision to care.

    The decision to keep showing up.

    Not because you have to.

    Because you want to.

    To me, there is something profoundly beautiful about a person who can survive without you and still chooses you anyway.

    Not out of fear.

    Not out of dependence.

    Not out of obligation.

    But out of affection, admiration, trust, and love.

    The title comes from the final image in the poem.

    Home, for me, has never been a place. It has always been a feeling.

    A sense of recognition.

    A sense of peace.

    A sense of arriving somewhere your heart already understands.

    And perhaps that’s the difference this poem is trying to articulate:

    I don’t want a love built on need.

    I want a love that recognizes home when it sees it.

    — Rowan Evans

    A lone figure standing peacefully at the edge of a shoreline at dusk, with soft glowing skies and faint symbolic shapes suggesting emotional connection and independence.
    Some loves are not survival—but recognition. A quiet choice made again and again.

    Recognizes Home
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I listen to all these songs
    about love and stuff—
    they all talk about need,
    quiet pleas, begging please,
    I’ll be broken if you leave.

    Used to think
    something was wrong with me—
    because it was never need.
    Subtext: I don’t need you,
    and that can hit hard.

    People hear “I don’t need you”
    and translate it as
    “I don’t care,”
    as if love only counts
    when it’s a lifeline—

    as if affection only matters
    when it’s oxygen.

    But I’ve never wanted
    to be someone’s air supply.

    I’ve never wanted
    to collapse without a body beside me.
    I’ve never wanted
    a love that breaks
    when the door closes
    or the distance grows.

    I don’t need you.
    But I choose you.
    And somehow
    that feels louder.

    So don’t mistake my steadiness
    for distance.
    Don’t mistake my independence
    for apathy.

    I don’t need you—
    but I want you
    with both feet planted,
    with eyes open,
    with a heart that stays—

    because it recognizes home
    when it sees it.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Not Rebuilding You]
    A poem about love as an act of presence rather than rescue. Through construction imagery, Not Rebuilding You explores trust, devotion, emotional safety, and the quiet work of building a foundation strong enough for healing to grow.

    [The Language Her Soul Speaks]
    What if love isn’t about being understood, but learning to understand someone else? “The Language Her Soul Speaks” is a free verse poem about intimacy, communication, curiosity, and the desire to know another person beyond the limits of language.

    [Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3)]
    A moonlit shoreline, a rowboat full of ducks, a piggybank with no cents, and a confession hidden in plain sight. Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3) explores how humor, wordplay, and absurdity can become a side door to vulnerability when the truth feels too difficult to say directly.

    [L Words & Heart]
    A playful, self-aware poem about love, longing, loyalty, and the quiet ways another person can reshape our inner world. What begins as humor slowly reveals a heartfelt confession about affection, imagination, and the faces that linger in our dreams.

    [It’s You I Choose]
    A poem about devotion, vulnerability, and the quiet decision to stay. Sometimes love isn’t certainty—it is choosing someone anyway.

    [I’ll Be There to See Your Sunrise]
    Love has never come easily to me. This poem explores the fear, vulnerability, and quiet courage required to stay emotionally present when connection begins to matter deeply. “I’ll Be There to See Your Sunrise” is about choosing love despite the risk of heartbreak—and promising to remain long enough to witness someone fully.

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

  • The Language Her Soul Speaks | A Poem About Love, Understanding, and Connection

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This is one of the shortest poems I’ve written in a while, but it carries an idea I’ve been circling for years.

    A lot of love poems focus on being understood.

    Wanting someone to see you. Wanting someone to know you. Wanting someone to understand the parts of yourself that feel difficult to explain.

    Those desires are real.

    But as I was writing this piece, I realized my attention was pointed in the opposite direction.

    I wasn’t thinking about being understood.

    I was thinking about understanding.

    About how every person carries an internal world that exists beyond simple translation. A private rhythm. A natural cadence. A way of thinking and feeling that doesn’t always survive the journey into spoken language.

    I think that’s part of why I write so often about language, communication, and connection.

    Not because I believe perfect understanding is possible.

    But because the attempt matters.

    Because choosing to learn someone—to listen carefully, to pay attention, to remain curious about who they are beneath the surface—is one of the most meaningful forms of affection I know.

    The title came first.

    “The Language Her Soul Speaks.”

    Not because I believe souls literally have languages, but because some people seem to move through the world with a rhythm that feels uniquely their own.

    This poem is about wanting to learn that rhythm.

    Not to change it.

    Not to possess it.

    Just to understand it a little better than I did yesterday.

    — Rowan Evans

    Two figures stand beneath a moonlit sky as glowing strands of language and light flow between them, symbolizing understanding, communication, and emotional connection.
    “Not because I need to be understood, but because I want to understand.” — The Language Her Soul Speaks by Rowan Evans

    The Language Her Soul Speaks
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I want to whisper secrets
    in the language her soul speaks,
    touch the edges of her mind
    in the natural cadence
    in which she thinks—

    not translated,
    not borrowed,
    not filtered
    through the limits of my tongue.

    Not because I need
    to be understood,
    but because I want to understand.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [L Words & Heart]
    A playful, self-aware poem about love, longing, loyalty, and the quiet ways another person can reshape our inner world. What begins as humor slowly reveals a heartfelt confession about affection, imagination, and the faces that linger in our dreams.

    [Just Beyond Waking]
    A street that feels familiar. A life that hasn’t happened yet. Just Beyond Waking explores the fragile space between dreams, memory, longing, and the quiet feeling that some futures are already waiting for us.

    [I’ll Be There to See Your Sunrise]
    Love has never come easily to me. This poem explores the fear, vulnerability, and quiet courage required to stay emotionally present when connection begins to matter deeply. “I’ll Be There to See Your Sunrise” is about choosing love despite the risk of heartbreak—and promising to remain long enough to witness someone fully.

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

  • Give Her Your Words Instead | A Poem About Love, Originality, and Honest Expression

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece was supposed to be a diss poem.

    Seriously.

    I started writing with the intention of poking fun at the endless parade of “Roses are red, violets are blue” poems that seem to recycle the same handful of ideas over and over again. The opening lines still carry some of that energy. They’re impatient. Slightly sarcastic. A little annoyed with how often people settle for the familiar when language can do so much more.

    But somewhere along the way, the poem changed directions.

    Instead of criticizing the cliché, I started asking why it feels like one.

    And I think the answer is simple:

    It’s not that the format is the problem.

    It’s that too often we borrow someone else’s words when our own would mean more.

    Love isn’t memorable because it’s perfectly phrased. It becomes memorable because it’s specific. Personal. Honest.

    Nobody falls in love with a template.

    They fall in love with the details.

    The shimmer of moonlight on water. The way someone’s voice changes when they’re excited. The strange contradictions of affection—how a person can make you feel stronger and weaker at the same time.

    Those things belong to you.

    The final lines became the heart of the piece for me because they move beyond parody and into something sincere.

    Don’t give someone borrowed language.

    Don’t hand them a greeting card version of your feelings.

    Give them your words.

    Give them the truth of you.

    — Rowan Evans

    Moonlight reflecting across dark water beside an open notebook and pen, symbolizing love, poetry, and authentic self-expression.
    “Don’t give someone borrowed language. Give them your words instead.” — A poem about authenticity, romance, and the details that make love unforgettable.

    Give Her Your Words Instead
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Roses are red,
    violets are blue—
    and so am I, too.
    Because your originality
    is growing old—
    your thoughts,
    are all cliché.

    I feel like I’ve
    read this all before.
    Roses are red—
    it’s been said and done,
    over and over.
    Too many times to count.

    It’s a quick start,
    not a spark—
    has no heart.

    You could do more.

    You could talk about
    the shimmer of the moon,
    over dark water—

    the way its reflection
    trembles—
    like my knees
    when she walks in.

    How the heart flutters
    like butterfly wings,
    whenever she speaks.

    She gives me strength.
    She is the spinach
    to my Popeye muscles.

    And yet—
    she makes me weak.
    She’s the kryptonite
    to my Kent.

    All I’m saying is—
    don’t give
    her roses of red,
    give her your words instead.

    No violets of blue,
    just the truth of you.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Violets Are Violet (Roses Are Complicated)]
    A simple observation leads to an absurd conclusion: violets aren’t blue, roses aren’t always red, and the classic love poem may be far less accurate than advertised. A humorous free-verse poem about overthinking, flower symbolism, and the unintended consequences of analyzing clichés too closely.

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

  • L Words & Heart | A Poem About Love, Longing, Loyalty & Being Seen

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece began as a joke.

    Or at least, I thought it did.

    The opening voice is intentionally playful—awkward, self‑deprecating, a little chaotic, prone to wandering off into side comments before finding its way back again. In many ways, it feels closer to how I actually think than some of my more polished or serious pieces.

    But underneath the humor is something sincere.

    I’ve never been particularly good at saying important things directly. Sometimes vulnerability arrives disguised as a joke. Sometimes affection hides behind wordplay. Sometimes the safest way to admit what you’re feeling is to make someone laugh first.

    The title comes from a simple realization: when I think about certain people, my thoughts tend to orbit the same things.

    Love. Longing. Loyalty.

    The L words.

    And heart.

    The final section is intentionally quieter than everything that comes before it. The jokes fall away, the distractions disappear, and what remains is the truth the speaker was circling the entire time: the way another person can take up space in your imagination, your creativity, and your inner world long before they ever occupy the same physical space.

    Sometimes affection doesn’t arrive as grand declarations.

    Sometimes it arrives as a face that appears when you close your eyes.
    A voice you hear in silence.
    A shoreline you keep finding in your dreams.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure standing on a moonlit shoreline while waves roll in beneath a dreamy twilight sky.
    Some people arrive in your thoughts quietly—then somehow become part of every dream, every poem, and every beat of your heart.

    L Words & Heart
    Poetry by Rowan Evan

    I’m just a quirky, mother—
    not a fighter, but a lover.
    I’m not brave or whatever,
    I bite tongues,
    holding words like lips
    with padlocks.

    I’ve never been a fan of change,
    but I want things to change—
    I want my life rearranged,
    I want to be seen as normal
    not strange—
    I want to be me
    and accepted,
    because I’m not as strange
    as you think—
    I’ve seen Stranger Things.

    (Actually, no I haven’t.
    I never got into the show.
    But I digress…)

    I’ve got things I want to say,
    got things I want you to know.

    When I think about you
    it’s all L words and heart,
    you reshaped my art.
    So I close my eyes
    and I see your face.
    In silence, I hear your voice—
    and in dreams I walk your shores.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Just Beyond Waking]
    A street that feels familiar. A life that hasn’t happened yet. Just Beyond Waking explores the fragile space between dreams, memory, longing, and the quiet feeling that some futures are already waiting for us.

    [Twin Suns, Sister Moons]
    A poem about distance, longing, and the quiet pull of someone who lives beneath a different sky. Between twin suns and sister moons, the heart keeps reaching for home.

    [It’s You I Choose]
    A poem about devotion, vulnerability, and the quiet decision to stay. Sometimes love isn’t certainty—it is choosing someone anyway.

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

  • Twin Suns, Sister Moons | A Poem About Distance, Longing, and Shared Skies

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece began with distance.

    Not just physical distance, but the strange emotional distance that forms when two people exist beneath different skies, different suns, different versions of the same moon.

    I found myself thinking about how science fiction—especially something like Star Wars—often uses planets and galaxies to talk about deeply human feelings: isolation, longing, escape, hope, belonging.

    That became the emotional framework for this poem.

    Tatooine and Coruscant aren’t just locations here. They represent emotional states. One is harsh survival. The other feels alive with possibility. The movement between them became a way of talking about wanting closeness badly enough that even entire worlds begin to feel traversable.

    The twin suns imagery mattered to me especially because it captures contradiction so well: existing in two emotional spaces at once, living beneath one sky while mentally reaching toward another.

    There’s also a quiet tension running through the piece between time and distance. The longer you care about someone far away, the more those concepts start blending together. Waiting becomes geography. Time zones become emotional landscapes. Even sunrise and moonrise begin carrying emotional weight.

    At its core, this poem is about gravitational pull.

    About the people who make “elsewhere” start feeling more like home than the place you currently stand.

    And about the quiet ache of wanting to bridge impossible distances anyway.

    — Rowan Evans

    A desert landscape beneath twin suns with a distant city glowing under a rising moon.
    Between your sky and mine, my heart keeps searching for the distance between us.

    Twin Suns, Sister Moons
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Sun lit skies—

    it’s sunrise,
    and I open my eyes
    already lost in thought.
    Believe it or not,
    it’s you I’m thinking of.

    Time—
    the quiet ticking
    of the clock.
    Seconds turn to minutes,
    minutes to hours—
    but time is also distance.

    The distance between
    my sun and yours,
    between two versions
    of the moon.

    And I’m stuck
    living between both.
    Under my sky,
    and by yours—

    Tatooine days
    under twin suns
    and sister moons—

    You make me
    want to escape this place,
    outer rim to the core worlds—
    desert to the city,
    Tatooine to Coruscant.

    I want to make
    your sky mine—

    share in your sun’s shine,
    make your moon
    the centerpiece
    for our nights.

    Moon lit skies—

    the moon rises,
    quiet and patient,
    and I feel it again—
    that pull toward you,
    toward elsewhere,
    toward the place
    my heart keeps trying to reach.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [It’s You I Choose]
    A poem about devotion, vulnerability, and the quiet decision to stay. Sometimes love isn’t certainty—it is choosing someone anyway.

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

  • It’s You I Choose | A Poem About Love, Loyalty, and Choosing Someone Again

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem started with a voice.

    Not a theme. Not an image. Not a grand idea.

    Just a voice already halfway through a conversation.

    The kind of conversation where someone teases you, calls you crazy, and instead of defending yourself, you laugh because you’ve heard it before.

    A lot of my writing tends to be emotionally heavy, layered, symbolic, or wrapped in larger metaphors. This piece isn’t trying to do any of that.

    It’s intentionally conversational.

    A little sarcastic. A little self-aware. A little chaotic.

    Which, if I’m being honest, isn’t that far removed from how I actually talk.

    What interested me while writing it was the difference between being called strange and being comfortable enough with yourself to stop treating that as an insult.

    The speaker isn’t arguing for normalcy.

    They’re not saying, “No, I’m not weird.”

    They’re basically saying:

    “Yeah. Maybe I am. And?”

    That confidence becomes important because it creates space for the real confession waiting underneath the jokes.

    The poem begins as a defense of individuality, but it ends as a statement of devotion.

    Not because the speaker suddenly becomes serious, but because sincerity sneaks in when they’re not looking.

    And that’s probably my favorite kind of honesty.

    The kind that arrives accidentally.

    The kind that slips past the defenses.

    The kind that shows up disguised as a joke before quietly admitting:

    Of all the people in the world, you’re the one I’d choose.

    — Rowan Evans

    Two people sharing a quiet late-night conversation while sunrise begins to glow through a nearby window.
    Sometimes love is not certainty. Sometimes it’s simply choosing someone, again and again.

    It’s You I Choose
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Here we sit, you and I
    deep in conversation—

    you say, “you’re insane,”
    I say “perfectly.”
    Got it tatted on my arm,
    as a reminder—

    I might struggle
    with my mental health,
    but I’m still perfectly myself.

    It’s a pillar
    of my personality.

    They say I’m strange,
    yeah, well I might be.
    That feels highly likely.

    Loyal to a fault—
    line snaps.
    But my devotion
    is unshakeable.

    What I’m trying to say is—

    maybe
    I am crazy,
    but baby—
    it’s you I choose,
    it’s you I couldn’t
    stand to lose.

    Journey into Hexverse…

    [I’ll Be There to See Your Sunrise]
    Love has never come easily to me. This poem explores the fear, vulnerability, and quiet courage required to stay emotionally present when connection begins to matter deeply. “I’ll Be There to See Your Sunrise” is about choosing love despite the risk of heartbreak—and promising to remain long enough to witness someone fully.

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

  • I’ll Be There to See Your Sunrise | Love, Vulnerability & Staying Present

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Love has always felt heavy to me.

    Not in a bad way— just in a real way.

    I don’t connect lightly, and I don’t fall into feelings easily. So when I do care about someone deeply, it feels enormous. Like something inside me permanently shifts shape around them.

    That can be beautiful.

    It can also be terrifying.

    This piece came from realizing that vulnerability isn’t just saying “I love you.” Sometimes vulnerability is choosing to stay present after you realize someone has the power to hurt you.

    Not because they want to.

    Just because love makes that possible.

    But I think there’s something important about choosing connection anyway.

    Not idealizing someone. Not expecting perfection. Not asking them to heal you.

    Just deciding that the fear of losing connection shouldn’t matter more than the connection itself.

    There’s also a quiet promise buried in this piece.

    A promise to stop drifting when things become emotionally overwhelming. A promise to stay long enough to witness someone fully. To see them in daylight, not just darkness.

    Sometimes love isn’t rescue.

    Sometimes it’s simply saying:

    “I’m here. And I’ll still be here when the sun comes up.”

    — Rowan Evans

    A shadowed figure watching the sunrise through a window as warm morning light begins to fill the room.
    Sometimes love is not rescue—it’s choosing to stay long enough to see the sun rise.

    I’ll Be There to See Your Sunrise
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Dim the lights
    and close the blinds—

    I’m going to be
    honest for a minute,
    I don’t love easily.

    It’s not that I’m afraid.
    I’m not scared to love.

    It just doesn’t come
    without fees for me,
    it costs me something
    every time—I leave a piece
    of my heart behind.

    But the truth is—
    I never really felt love like that,
    everything was just a crush
    until you, that is.

    You—
    who resides in my thoughts now,
    who changed the way
    I see myself somehow.

    And the truth is—
    you didn’t do a thing, not really,
    you just made it safe
    to be honest.

    And I’ll be honest—
    I check your skies,
    before my own.

    The only thing that scares me
    is how much I care,
    that you can hurt me—

    and I’m hyperaware.

    But that’s not fair to you,
    to brace for ache
    when you carry your own pain—

    so even if I’m scared,
    I’ve got to face my fears.

    I’ve got to stay—
    I can’t let myself drift away.

    And I remember—
    you said I met you mid night,
    and the hope I’d see you
    in day light’s shine.

    This is my promise
    to be there,
    to witness it—

    I promise.
    I’ll be there
    to see your sunrise.

    Journey into the Hexverse...

    [Before We Created the Labels]
    Ancient gods return to a fractured world shaped by borders, identities, and separation. “Before We Created the Labels” explores humanity’s divisions through mythic imagery, sacred ritual, and symbolic collapse—asking what remains when we learn to see one another beyond labels.

    [The Unkindness Descends]
    “The Unkindness Descends” is a Gothic symbolic poem exploring collapse, transformation, and the unsettling experience of being witnessed during moments of unraveling. Through raven imagery, ambiguity, and ritualistic atmosphere, the poem invites multiple interpretations—spiritual, psychological, ominous, or transformative.

    [I Write Cathedrals]
    “I Write Cathedrals” explores faith, doubt, belonging, and the search for meaning beyond certainty. Through Gothic spiritual imagery and confessional reflection, the poem examines how writing can become a sacred space for questioning, wonder, and the people who feel displaced by traditional structures of belief.

    [Drought Resistant]
    “Drought Resistant” is a confessional poem about growing up poor in California’s Central Valley—where triple-digit heat, EBT cycles, dry ramen, and hard landscapes become part of emotional memory. Blending humor, slang, and working-class reflection, the poem explores survival, regional identity, and complicated love for the place that shaped you.

    [Escaped to the Page]
    “Escaped to the Page” is a confessional meta-poem about individuality, artistic identity, and surviving through writing. Blending sharp confidence with emotional vulnerability, the poem explores the difference between shared labels and lived experience—and the ways art becomes inseparable from the life behind it.

    [Ink as a Second Mouth]
    “Ink as a Second Mouth” explores the distance between thought and speech, and the ways writing can become a form of survival, continuity, and self-translation. Through confessional imagery and reflections on growth, identity, and articulation, the poem examines what it means to keep becoming through language.

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

  • The Quiet Inside the Noise – A Love Poem About Finding Calm in One Person

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    My mind isn’t usually quiet.

    It tends to move fast, loud, pulling in a dozen directions at once. Most of the time, that kind of noise is overwhelming–something I’m trying to manage, or move through.

    But sometimes, it shifts.

    Sometimes everything narrows–focuses–until all that noise settles around a single point.

    And instead of feeling chaotic, it feels… calm.

    This piece comes from that shift.

    From the moment where the noise doesn’t disappear–but softens, because of who it centers on.

    — Rowan Evans

    Couple walking down a warm city street at sunset with soft light and humid atmosphere.
    Sometimes the noise doesn’t disappear—it just finds somewhere softer to land.

    The Quiet Inside the Noise
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    My mind gets so loud—
    usually, that’s a problem.

    But when every thought
    revolves around
    a single point,
    the noise softens.

    It feels different.

    Especially when
    that single point
    is you—
    the quiet
    inside the noise.

    Every thought.
    Every dream.

    You and I—
    walking Manila’s streets,
    feeling Manila’s heat.

    “The heat,” you say,
    “you can’t take it—
    the way the humidity clings.”

    You laugh—

    telling me I’ll melt
    before noon.

    But I think
    I’ve already melted
    into the idea of you.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [Low Hum]
    Depression isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s a quiet presence—a low hum beneath everything. This poem explores that silence, and the small moments that help break through it.

    [Storm Systems]
    A powerful poem using weather as a metaphor for mental health, exploring emotional storms, numbness, and the people who keep us grounded.

    [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.

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

  • Lantern in the Room – A Poem About Trauma, Love, and Inner Darkness

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece wasn’t planned.

    It came out in one sitting–somewhere between thought and feeling, where things don’t always organize themselves neatly. It’s messy in the way real reflection tends to be.

    There’s a version of me that still exists in that room. The one surrounded by noise, by doubt, by everything that hasn’t fully let go yet.

    And for a long time, I thought the goal was to get out of that room entirely.

    To silence it. To leave it behind.

    But that’s not what happened.

    Instead, I learned how to sit in it differently.

    To see the shadows for what they are–not threats, but remnants. Not something to fear, but something to understand.

    And somewhere along the way, I realized something else–

    that I wasn’t alone in that space anymore.

    This piece is about that shift.

    Not from the darkness to light…
    but from fear to awareness.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person holding a glowing lantern in a dark empty room surrounded by shadowy figures, symbolizing inner demons and self-reflection.
    Even in the darkest rooms, a single light is enough to face what once felt impossible.

    Lantern in the Room
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I sit in an empty room—
    but I’m not alone here.

    It’s me, myself
    and the demons I hide.

    Remnants
    of a shattered mind,

    scattered across
    endless timelines.

    A life of possibility,
    held back by humility—
    and a lack of confidence.

    I don’t know
    how to take a compliment.

    What makes it worse is—
    I know my worth…
    but I question
    how anyone else could.

    I don’t let them
    get close enough to know.

    I get just close enough—
    close enough to know it’s real.

    Then I pull back—
    because I’m scared to feel.

    I’ve been hurt before.

    And that hurt—
    it festered,
    turned to rot.

    It spread
    inside my chest,
    until there was nothing left—

    just fear and doubt.

    In my head,
    they shout.

    I just wanted them out.

    And then—

    her.

    Her,
    with the voice
    that cuts through
    the fog.

    Her,
    with the eyes
    that light up the night—
    they brighten my life.

    Her…
    it’s always been her.

    Since the moment
    she appeared.
    It felt like—
    addiction.

    I couldn’t get enough.

    And I ask myself—
    is this love?

    I used to think
    I knew what that was.

    Now every thought
    revolves around her.

    Even when I drift,
    the thought of her
    brings me back to center.

    She’s the tether—
    a lighthouse
    in stormy weather.

    Just by existing,
    she makes me better.

    She didn’t save me.
    She didn’t fix me—

    she changed my perspective.

    That’s it.

    Now—
    I can’t picture
    what life was like before.

    It feels distant.

    Like a version of history
    that didn’t happen to me.

    But it did.

    That’s where my scars
    come from.

    It’s where the demons
    were born.

    The voices that whisper—
    the thoughts that scream—

    is this a nightmare
    or a dream?

    Because I’m still terrified.
    I’d be lying if I said otherwise.

    So I return to the room—
    lantern in hand.

    The shadows don’t scare me anymore.

    They’re just part
    of the narrative now.

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

  • Can’t Tell the Difference | A Poem About Dreams, Memory, and Love

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes the mind doesn’t separate things as cleanly as we’d like.

    Memory, imagination, longing–they start to overlap. What you’ve felt in dreams can become just as vivid as something you’ve physically lived. And after a while, the line between the two doesn’t disappear… it just stops mattering in the same way.

    Can’t Tell the Difference lives in the space.

    It’s not about confusion in a chaotic sense–it’s about the quiet disorientation of something feeling real enough to hold weight, even if you prove it happened the way you remember.

    Because emotion doesn’t always follow logic.

    And sometimes the question isn’t “did this happen?”
    It’s “why did it feel like it did?”

    — Rowan Evans

    Person standing above a glowing city at night, with blurred dreamlike figures walking hand-in-hand below, symbolizing the line between memory and reality.
    Where memory and dreams blur—
    and feeling becomes its own kind of truth.

    Can’t Tell the Difference
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I stand on the edge
    of what’s real—
    and what isn’t.

    But I can’t tell
    the difference.

    Is it a dream,
    or a memory?

    I don’t know anymore.

    I’ve held your hand before.
    I know I have—
    there is no way,
    that was just a dream.

    It was too real.

    I could feel
    the sweat on your skin,
    the heat in the air—
    humidity clinging,

    busy streets alive
    with Jeepney beeps.

    So what is real?
    Is it what you’ve lived—
    or what you feel?

    Was it real
    or a dream,
    when I looked you in the eye,
    and said—

    I love you.

    Because I felt that.

    I felt the words
    leave my lips—

    I love you…

    echoing,
    like a record skipped.

    Every night
    in my dreams,
    I meet you
    on city streets.

    We walk,
    we talk,
    hand in hand—

    conversations
    only I could imagine.

    We talk about life,
    but never the future—
    just the now.

    The current moment.

    Because we move the same—
    drifting forward,
    unchained.

    And still—

    I stand on the edge
    of what’s real,
    and what isn’t.

    And I can’t tell
    the difference.

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