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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: mental health poetry

  • Reading the Sky | A Poem About Depression, Healing, and Emotional Cycles

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    People sometimes talk about depression like it’s constant sadness.

    For me, it’s rarely that simple.

    Sometimes it’s pressure. Sometimes it’s exhaustion. Sometimes it’s numbness so quiet you don’t notice how deep you’ve sunk until something shifts and suddenly you can breathe again.

    That’s where this piece came from.

    Not from a dramatic breakthrough— just a morning where the weight felt lighter.

    And when you’ve carried storms inside yourself for long enough, even small moments of relief can feel almost unreal.

    But one of the hardest things to learn about living with depression is this:

    good days don’t erase bad ones, and bad days don’t erase good ones.

    The storm passing doesn’t mean it’ll never return.

    It means you survived it long enough to recognize clear skies when they arrive.

    That’s what Reading the Sky became about for me.

    Not curing the storm. Not defeating it.

    Just learning its patterns. Learning when the pressure shifts. Learning how to keep breathing through both the thunder and the quiet afterward.

    And maybe most importantly—

    allowing yourself to enjoy the clean air when it finally comes.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary person stands beneath clearing storm clouds as sunlight begins breaking through the sky after rain.
    Some victories are simply learning how to breathe again after the storm passes.

    Reading the Sky
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I woke today
    feeling different—

    like everything
    had changed,
    in an instant.

    Like the storm inside
    had finally gone silent.
    The winds had died,
    but I was alive.

    Smile on my face—
    for the first time,
    didn’t feel out of place.

    I could still see
    lightning on the edges
    of my perception—
    feel the rumble
    of thunder
    in my chest.

    It was softer now.

    This storm had passed,
    but another
    would surely come.

    It’s a cycle—

    and these things
    have a season.

    The storms?

    They come
    and go.

    That’ll never change.

    It’s learning
    to read the sky,
    to feel
    when the pressure shifts.

    Now let me say this plain…

    I’ve got depression.

    It lives in my chest,
    waiting to teach me lessons.

    It’s a storm
    I’ve weathered—

    more than
    any one person should.

    That’s what makes
    days like these—
    feel like the cleanest air
    I’ve ever breathed.

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

  • The Shadow and the Spark – A Mortal Kombat Inspired Poem About Mental Conflict and Survival

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    For a long time, I treated parts of myself like enemies.

    The anger. The depression. The anxiety. The numbness. The intensity.

    I thought healing meant defeating those parts—silencing them, overpowering them, forcing them out of existence.

    But that mindset turns your own mind into a battleground.

    This piece uses the language and imagery of Mortal Kombat because fighting games have always fascinated me symbolically. Every character feels like an exaggerated emotional state: rage, grief, control, fear, vengeance, power, identity.

    And sometimes living with mental illness feels exactly like that: constant internal matches, different versions of yourself stepping into the arena one after another.

    But the ending became something unexpected while I was writing it.

    Because eventually I realized: the goal isn’t to destroy the shadow.

    The shadow is still part of me.

    This piece stopped being about conflict halfway through writing it.

    It became about coexistence.

    — Rowan Evans

    Figure standing beside their shadow in a supernatural arena of fire, ice, and lightning
    Every fighter shared the same player.

    The Shadow and the Spark
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Sometimes I lose sight of me,
    and honestly,
    I don’t like this side of me.
    When darkness takes over
    inside of me—
    it seeps out, Noob Saibot,
    shadow right beside me.

    I’ve weathered storms,
    in Netherrealm—
    trapped in Mortal Kombat
    with a version of myself.

    Bi-Han
    versus
    Kuai Liang

    And that’s just one side of me,
    I’ve got the fire of Hanzo Hasashi—
    it burns deep inside, smoldering.
    Shirai Ryu and Lin Kuei,
    fire and ice, inside of me.

    It’s a feeling, I can’t escape—
    Sindel screams inside my brain.
    Skull rattles, skeleton shakes,
    it’s a fatality that shakes me awake.

    The shadows
    try to silence—
    screams,
    fire and
    ice collide—
    steam.

    It’s pressure
    released.

    But it’s still a war inside,
    even when I can’t see.

    Shadows move.
    Screams echo.

    Kindling ignites.
    Water freeze.

    Each takes its place
    center stage,
    face to face—

    round one.
    Round two.
    Flawless victory.

    The shadow
    beat the scream,

    silenced the noise.

    And the next battle
    takes place—
    two elements step in,
    who’s going to win?

    Fire and ice,
    passion and apathy—
    I say “get over here,”
    to those in need.

    So passion takes the lead,
    but the shadow creeps—
    it seems to come from
    anywhere and nowhere,
    above, below—
    from where it’ll strike,
    no one knows.

    Pause.
    Select fighter.

    Shit’s about to get
    electric,
    Raiden is on the move—
    Noob gets a shock to the system.

    Shadow shocked.

    Uppercut. (Toasty!)
    Stage shift.

    New arena
    but the fight
    continues.

    The shadow
    and the spark—

    the light
    and the dark—

    —but neither side
    can truly win.

    Finish him?

    No.

    I’m tired
    of fighting myself.

    So I lower my fists,
    let the arena lights dim—

    and for the first time,
    the shadow
    stands beside me
    instead of against me.

    Because the shadow
    is still me.

    The fire
    is still me.

    The scream,
    the silence,
    the ice,
    the lightning—

    every fighter
    shares the same
    player.

    Controller shaking
    in my hands,
    I finally understand—

    this was never
    about victory.

    Only survival.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    Previous:
    [East Knows My Name]
    A deeply introspective poem about emotional displacement, cultural disconnect, and feeling spiritually drawn toward a place far from where you were born.

    [Out of Sync]
    A reflective free verse poem about emotional displacement, shifting sleep cycles, and feeling spiritually drawn toward another side of the world.

    [The Waves That Call Me]
    A reflective free verse poem about doubt, perseverance, and learning to trust the pull toward the life you truly want.

    Upcoming:
    [Finish What You Started]
    A dark introspective poem about confronting the past, carrying old versions of yourself, and realizing that the only way forward is through the fire.

    [Altars and Roses]
    A gothic free verse poem about poetic identity, recurring symbolism, devotion, and the quiet humanity beneath dramatic imagery.

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

  • I Don’t Mean Life – A Poem About Misunderstood Words, Identity, and Not Belonging

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There are phrases people hear… but don’t always understand.

    “I don’t want to be here” is one of them.

    It can sound final, heavy, even alarming—but sometimes it isn’t about wanting to disappear.

    Sometimes it’s about wanting relief.

    From pressure. From identity that doesn’t feel like your own. From a place that feels more like confinement than belonging.

    This piece is about that distinction.

    About being misunderstood—not because you’re unclear, but because people hear fear before they hear meaning.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person standing behind a map-shaped barrier, symbolizing feeling trapped by identity and place
    Sometimes “I don’t want to be here” means I don’t belong—not that I want to disappear.

    I Don’t Mean Life
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I say, “I don’t want to be here,”
    and people panic—
    “Don’t say that,” they shout
    as I struggle to find a way out.

    They worry—
    thinking the words
    mean death.

    But really—
    I just want to lift
    the weight
    from my chest.

    When I say
    I don’t want to be here—
    I don’t mean life.
    I mean this place.

    These borders
    that have become
    a cage.

    Do you know
    what it’s like—

    to carry this weight?

    To feel fake,
    filled with self-hate,
    all because of
    where you’re from?

    They say
    I should be
    more like them.

    Handed labels,
    identity described—
    just an American
    in their eyes.

    But I’ve never
    felt like that
    in my life.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [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.

    [Where the Tide Calls Me]
    What if feeling stuck isn’t about being lost—but about resisting where you’re meant to go? Where the Tide Calls Me explores belonging, movement, and the courage to follow an unseen pull.

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

  • Quiet Devastation – A Poem About Feeling Stuck, Lost, and Out of Sync with Life

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There’s a difference between being lost… and being aware that you’re lost.

    This piece comes from that second place.

    Where you can see the distance between where you are and where you feel like you’re meant to be—but something in you still won’t move.

    It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic.

    It’s quieter than that.

    A kind of exhaustion that sits in your chest and lingers in your thoughts—while the world keeps going like nothing’s wrong.

    And you’re left there… knowing you’re meant for more, but not knowing how to reach it.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person standing still on a shoreline at dusk, symbolizing feeling stuck and disconnected from life.
    Knowing you’re meant for more… but not knowing how to move.

    Quiet Devastation
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ve been lost—
    wandering.
    I know,
    I’ve said that before.

    I’ve probably
    said it a lot.

    Wandering—
    through mental rot,
    every thought
    enough to make you stop.

    Out of sync
    with the world
    around me.

    Hand on my chest,
    I pledge
    to the nonsense.

    Exasperated sighs—
    you can see
    how tired I am
    just by looking
    in my eyes.

    It’s a quiet
    devastation—
    to be stuck in place,
    and know
    you’re destined for more.

    As my mind wanders,
    my feet stay stuck—
    glued to a shore
    that’s never felt
    less like home.

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

  • Not a Crisis, Just Constant – A Poem About Anxiety, Isolation, and Quiet Struggle

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There’s a version of struggling that doesn’t look like a crisis.

    It doesn’t interrupt your life in obvious ways. It doesn’t demand immediate attention. You can still function. Still respond. Still say you’re okay—and technically, you’re not lying.

    But something isn’t right.

    This piece comes from that space.

    From existing in the in-between—where things aren’t falling apart, but they’re not getting better either. Where anxiety becomes background noise, and depression shifts from something loud and consuming into something quieter… but constant.

    And maybe that’s what makes it harder.

    Because it’s easier to recognize a storm than it is to notice the air slowly changing around you.

    This poem isn’t about overcoming that feeling.

    It’s about naming it.

    And about acknowledging something else, too—

    that even in that space, even with all the noise, there can still be something—someone—that keeps you grounded.

    Not as a fix.

    Not as a solution.

    But as a reason to stay.

    — Rowan Evans

    A person sitting alone in a dim room surrounded by shadowy shapes representing anxiety and quiet mental struggle
    Not everything that hurts is loud—
    some things stay… and stay.

    Not a Crisis, Just Constant
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I sit—
    knees to chest,
    arms wrapped tight.

    I think I’m losing my mind—
    or just lost in it.

    I can feel again.

    But why am I
    still stuck here?

    It’s like I’m on the edge—

    wandering the border between
    social death
    and living.

    I can hear my thoughts talk—
    whispering secrets
    meant to stay hidden,
    embarrassing memories
    I wish I could forget.

    Maybe that’s why
    I can’t move.

    Because I’m stuck
    in the in-between.

    I want connection,
    but I want to be left alone—
    because isolation
    feels like home.

    And that scares me.

    I want you to see me.
    But the thought of being perceived?

    It terrifies me.

    It’s paralyzing.

    I just want to breathe.
    I just want to be—
    without my mind
    attacking me.

    I’m so sick of life
    with anxiety.
    It’s one of the voices
    inside of me.

    Depression was a monster—

    now it’s just
    a low hum.

    Not a crisis…

    but constant.

    I don’t know
    if this is healing—
    or just another version
    of being stuck.

    But through all the noise—
    all the voices—
    there’s still one
    that sounds like you.

    And somehow…

    that’s enough
    to keep me here.

    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.

    [The Wind Knew Your Name]
    A dream of relief turns into something unexpected—the return of thought, feeling, and movement. This poem explores the shift from silence to chaos, and the voice within it that leads the way forward.

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

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

  • Low Hum – A Poem About Quiet Depression and Finding Hope

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Depression isn’t always loud.

    Sometimes it isn’t a breakdown, or a moment where everything collapses.

    Sometimes it’s just… there.

    A constant presence in the background.
    A low hum you can’t turn off.

    You function. You respond. You say you’re fine—
    because technically, you are surviving.

    But inside, there’s a distance. A quiet. A kind of disconnection that’s hard to explain to people who haven’t felt it.

    This piece comes from that space.

    From trying to navigate something that isn’t intense enough to demand attention—but heavy enough to change how everything feels.

    And in the middle of that…
    holding onto whatever brings you back.

    Even if it’s small.

    Even if it’s just a voice,
    a memory,
    or a moment of warmth in the noise.

    Because sometimes, hope doesn’t arrive all at once.

    Sometimes—

    it starts as a flicker.

    — Czech cc

    A dim room with a single candle glowing softly in the darkness symbolizing quiet depression and hope.
    Even the quietest light can break through the loudest silence.

    Low Hum
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ve been feeling
    this low hum of depression
    for some time—
    it’s got me stuck
    inside my mind.

    It’s not enough
    to be a crisis,
    I just don’t know
    how to fight it.
    It’s got a grip on me—
    we’ve got history.

    Sometimes—
    I sit like I’m lost in thought,
    but there are no thoughts at all.

    Just silence inside.

    I watch my life
    through hollow eyes.

    There’s too much stimuli—
    the world’s too loud sometimes.
    I’m overwhelmed by
    everything.

    When they ask me,
    I say, “I’m okay.
    Yeah, I’m fine.”

    “Why?
    What’s on your mind?”

    But I’m lying—
    because I’m not okay,
    I’m far from fine.

    I’m trapped inside
    this silence in my mind.

    I want connection,
    but my mind pulls me away.
    I open my mouth,
    but don’t know what to say—

    or how to break the cycle.

    How do I step outside the loop?

    I hold onto whatever grounds me,
    whatever helps
    fight the tide inside my mind,
    and keeps me clinging to the shore.

    It starts small—
    a single image:
    A candle with flickering flame.

    But it quickly grows—

    her voice saying my name,
    echoed through the dark.

    Her laugh—
    shatters the ice
    around my heart.

    I’m still stuck—

    but now—

    I have hope.

    And maybe…
    that’s enough to start moving.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    Even knowing where you’re going doesn’t mean you’re not still fighting to get there. — [121° East]

    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]

  • I Love You (Even in the Grey) | A Poem About Depression, Love, and Finding Light

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Depression isn’t always loud.

    Sometimes it doesn’t look like darkness at all–it looks like dimming.
    Like the light is still there… just harder to feel.

    This piece came from that space.

    From trying to move through the fog, to function, to follow advice that makes sense in theory–but doesn’t quite reach the place you’re actually in.

    And in the middle of that, realizing something else:

    that sometimes, it isn’t the sun that grounds you–it’s a person.

    The way they speak.
    The way they exist in your thoughts.
    The way they bring you back to yourself, even when you feel lost.

    This poem is about that contrast–
    between external light and internal connection.

    And about finally saying something
    that’s been held back for too long.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person standing under a grey sky with a distant glowing figure representing love and emotional light
    Even when the world fades to grey—
    some people still feel like light.

    I Love You (Even in the Grey)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I used to think depression
    was only the dark days,
    but now I see it
    as the dim rays—
    where the sun’s still up,
    but the sky turns grey.

    My mind fogs,
    and I get lost—
    following the rumble
    of thunder,
    as I stumble
    my way through.

    Pushing through thoughts,
    endless.
    Fighting my own mind,
    relentless.

    “Get some sun”, they say—
    it’ll help you,
    you’ll feel better if you do.

    But what’s the sun
    when I miss
    your warmth?

    And what’s the sun
    compared to the light
    from your smile?

    You see—
    when my thoughts
    get loud,
    I use the echo
    of your voice
    to drown them out.

    You’re something
    that centers me.
    You remind me
    where my feet should be—
    firmly planted.

    Even without roots here.

    So even when
    I stay lost,
    you stay
    in my thoughts.

    And every prayer I pray…

    Like when I prayed for strength,
    so I can plainly say…

    I love you.

    Now—
    I’ve bitten my tongue
    long enough.
    So I’ll say it again
    to make up for time lost.

    I love you—
    and I mean it.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [To Whom It May Concern…]
    A raw exploration of vulnerability, fear, and self-sabotage—this poem captures the struggle between wanting to be seen and the instinct to hide.

    [Weathered]
    A deeply introspective poem about confronting fear, breaking patterns, and choosing to stand in the storm instead of running from it.

    [The Mind’s Winter]
    This piece wasn’t planned. It’s a real-time reflection on emotional withdrawal, overthinking, and the distance that can grow when something matters too much… ending with a simple truth: I miss you.

    [Same Room (Emotionally)]
    Can you miss someone you’ve never met? This poem explores emotional connection beyond physical distance and what it means to truly feel seen.

    [No Parachute]
    A poetic reflection on falling in love without hesitation—raw, uncertain, and without a safety net.

    [When I Started to Fall for You]
    A lyrical exploration of love’s intensity—how connection grows, transforms, and reshapes the way we experience the world.

    [Bad Habit]
    A powerful reflection on repetitive thought patterns, emotional loops, and the moment of realizing you’re stuck inside your own mind.

    [Same Sky]
    A poetic meditation on longing, distance, and the quiet desire to share the same space—even when worlds apart.

    [Can’t Tell the Difference]
    A reflective poem about the blurred line between dreams and reality, where memory, longing, and love intertwine until the difference no longer feels clear.

    [Standing Between Us]
    A room filled with every version of yourself—past, present, and possible. This poem explores the space between identity and connection, where becoming who you are and reaching for someone else begin to feel like the same act.

    [Beneath the Surface]
    A poem about wanting more than surface-level connection—seeking the truth, the scars, and the quiet battles that shape who we are.

    [The Voice in the Haze]
    A wandering dream, a voice that feels like memory, and a moment where everything quiets just enough to be found.

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

  • Same Sky – A Poem About Distance, Longing, and Connection

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Same Sky sits in the space between distance and closeness.

    It’s about the kind of connection that feels real, even when it isn’t physically present. The kind that inspires growth, while also bringing fear to the surface.

    There’s a vulnerability in wanting someone–not just near you, but in your world. In admitting that their presence matters, even without defining what that presence is.

    At its core, this piece isn’t about certainty.

    It’s about longing.

    The quiet, persistent kind–
    that simply wants someone here.

    — Rowan Evans

    Two people far apart looking up at the same star-filled sky, symbolizing longing and connection
    Different places. Same sky.

    Same Sky
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Don’t take it personally,
    when I retreat—
    disappear inside of me.
    I’m reflecting—
    is this something
    I need protecting from?

    These feelings
    that I’m feeling,
    they scare me.

    It’s terrifying,
    sometimes—
    the way you
    make me feel.

    The way I want to change myself,
    not because you asked me to—
    because you inspire me,
    to be better than I was
    the day before.

    So I look to the heavens
    with feet planted,
    connected to the surface
    of the planet.
    Feet, the roots,
    grounding me.

    Even if I don’t feel
    rooted to the ground
    beneath.

    Eyes on the stars,
    mapping scars
    traced from afar.

    Ocean’s edge,
    is the reminder
    of the—

    Through the waves,
    I’d swim.

    I’d leave behind
    my life and everything
    I’ve ever known.

    It’s an internal insistence,
    to close the distance.
    A longing to stand under
    the same stars,
    in the same sky
    on the same night.

    To be able to look over,
    to know you’re near.
    Friend or more,
    I don’t care.

    I just…

    I want you there.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [To Whom It May Concern…] (3/20)

    A raw exploration of vulnerability, fear, and self-sabotage—this poem captures the struggle between wanting to be seen and the instinct to hide.

    [Weathered] (3/21)

    A deeply introspective poem about confronting fear, breaking patterns, and choosing to stand in the storm instead of running from it.

    [Same Room (Emotionally)] (3/22)

    Can you miss someone you’ve never met? This poem explores emotional connection beyond physical distance and what it means to truly feel seen.

    [No Parachute] (3/23)

    A poetic reflection on falling in love without hesitation—raw, uncertain, and without a safety net.

    [When I Started to Fall for You] (3/24)

    A lyrical exploration of love’s intensity—how connection grows, transforms, and reshapes the way we experience the world.

    [Bad Habit] (3/25)

    A powerful reflection on repetitive thought patterns, emotional loops, and the moment of realizing you’re stuck inside your own mind.

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

  • Bad Habit – A Poem About Mental Loops and Self-Awareness

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    The mind has a way of repeating itself.

    Patterns, thoughts, loops–they can feel inescapable, like walking through the same place over and over again, no matter how far you think you’ve gone.

    Bad Habit is about recognizing those patterns in real time. Not after the fact, not with clarity or distance–but while you’re still standing inside them.

    It’s the moment of awareness.

    And the quiet decision to not disappear into it.

    — Rowan Evans

    A person walking through a repeating or mirrored space, symbolizing mental loops and overthinking
    Some patterns don’t break—they repeat.

    Bad Habit
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I feel like I’m running in place,
    my feet move but I go nowhere.
    Terrain’s all the same,
    it never changes.

    All the trees
    in the same place.
    All the people
    with the same face.

    Dreams, perhaps—
    or maybe a nightmare?
    My mind,
    it doesn’t fight fair.

    So I’m stuck here.
    Wandering,
    lost in my mind—
    pondering,
    you know I have questions.

    I was just wondering—
    if I reached my hand out,
    would you grab it?
    Pull me back
    from this static?

    I know it’s not you
    that I’m talking to,
    but my brain
    paints you so vivid.
    So I let myself take time,
    I let myself live it.

    It’s all inside my mind,
    dreams, perhaps
    or maybe nightmare.

    Maybe it pulls me in,
    and wants to keep me there.
    Like a ghost of despair,
    trying to get me to—
    disappear.

    But I’m not going
    anywhere.
    Once I’ve climbed
    out of my mind,
    and back into the world.

    Back into myself,
    into clear mental health.
    No more fog,
    no more static.
    No more feeling
    like my life is tragic.

    Another bad habit.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [To Whom It May Concern…] (3/20)

    A raw exploration of vulnerability, fear, and self-sabotage—this poem captures the struggle between wanting to be seen and the instinct to hide.

    [Weathered] (3/21)

    A deeply introspective poem about confronting fear, breaking patterns, and choosing to stand in the storm instead of running from it.

    [Same Room (Emotionally)] (3/22)

    Can you miss someone you’ve never met? This poem explores emotional connection beyond physical distance and what it means to truly feel seen.

    [No Parachute] (3/23)

    A poetic reflection on falling in love without hesitation—raw, uncertain, and without a safety net.

    [When I Started to Fall for You] (3/24)

    A lyrical exploration of love’s intensity—how connection grows, transforms, and reshapes the way we experience the world.

    [Same Sky] (3/26)

    A poetic meditation on longing, distance, and the quiet desire to share the same space—even when worlds apart.

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