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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: mental health poetry

  • Schrödinger’s Person | A Poem About Presence, Perception, and Existing Between States

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem began with a phrase.

    “Schrödinger’s Person.”

    The moment it entered my mind, I laughed.

    Then I realized it wasn’t really a joke.

    I’ve always been fascinated by the spaces between things.

    Between sleeping and waking.

    Between leaving and arriving.

    Between being understood and merely being seen.

    The famous thought experiment gave me a metaphor, but the poem isn’t really about quantum mechanics.

    It’s about perception.

    There are moments when I feel as though I exist in two places at once.

    One version of me is moving through the ordinary world.

    The other exists inside the minds of the people who know me, read my work, remember me, or think about me.

    Neither version is false.

    They’re simply different ways of existing.

    I think writers become especially aware of this.

    Our words continue living in places we’ll never visit, meeting people we’ll never meet.

    A poem can be read years after it’s written.

    A thought can continue existing long after the thinker has moved on.

    That creates a strange feeling.

    Part of you is always somewhere else.

    The final lines carry the emotional truth of the piece.

    Not that I cease to exist when no one is looking.

    Only that being perceived is one of the ways we feel most alive.

    Maybe that’s true for all of us.

    Maybe every human being exists in more than one state at once.

    The self we know.

    And the self that lives in someone else’s memory.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure appears between two overlapping realities, symbolizing existing in multiple states at once.
    Sometimes existence feels less like certainty and more like possibility.

    Schrödinger’s Person
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m drifting somewhere
    in the in-between—
    space is liminal here.
    This is where people go
    to disappear—
    you must exist
    with the fear.

    It’s like I’m here
    but I’m not—
    I’m somewhere else too.
    It’s like I exist—
    in two states
    at the same time.

    I am Schrödinger’s Person.

    You see—
    that sounds more dramatic
    than it is,
    I just mean—
    when you perceive me
    is when I live.

    Not that I don’t
    without you—
    because I do,
    but I really don’t want to.

    You see—
    the two states
    I exist in,
    here…

    and there.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Returning to My Bones]
    Some dreams fade the moment we wake. Others leave behind emotions that linger long after reality returns. Returning to My Bones explores the strange grief of leaving a dream that felt real enough to matter.

    [Before My Feet Touch the Floor]
    What happens when your dreams feel more real than your waking life? Before My Feet Touch the Floor explores the strange grief of waking up, the lingering memory of dream selves, and the quiet question of which version of us is truly real.

    [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.

    [The Needle Doesn’t Point North]
    “The Needle Doesn’t Point North” is a deeply personal free verse poem about displacement, identity, and spending a lifetime feeling emotionally disconnected from the place you were born while being drawn toward distant shores.

    [The Streets I Walk When I Sleep]
    “The Streets I Walk When I Sleep” is a deeply intimate free verse poem about recurring dreams, emotional connection, longing across distance, and the strange feeling of remembering places and moments that have never happened in waking life.

    [Separate Timelines]
    “Separate Timelines” is a surreal and deeply introspective free verse poem about emotional distance, time zones, vulnerability, and the fear of losing a connection that already feels meaningful before the words are ever spoken aloud.

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

  • Translating What I Feel | A Poem About Creativity, Emotion, and the Writing Process

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem began with an image.

    Not a line. Not a metaphor.

    An image.

    A single figure standing alone, staring into the distance like the opening shot of a film.

    At first, the poem exists entirely outside the body. The speaker is observed rather than understood. We see the wind. The trees. The dirt beneath their feet. We hear a voice describing loneliness from a distance.

    Then the question arrives:

    “Is that the truth or the depression talking?”

    For me, that’s the moment the camera moves.

    The poem stops observing the speaker and starts inhabiting them.

    Everything before that question is external.

    Everything after it is internal.

    The scenery gives way to self-examination. The loneliness becomes less important than the act of interrogating it. The poem begins pulling apart its own construction, examining how emotions become images and how images eventually become language.

    In many ways, this piece accidentally became a poem about my entire creative process.

    I’ve spent twenty-three years translating feelings into words.

    Not just the dramatic emotions. Not just love, grief, or heartbreak.

    Everything.

    The strange moments. The passing thoughts. The questions that linger longer than they should.

    The title came from that realization.

    Because that’s what poetry has always felt like to me.

    Translation.

    An emotion enters one side of the mind.

    An image emerges from the other.

    And somewhere in between, a poem happens.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary poet stands by the shoreline at dusk as ink transforms into waves and moonlight, symbolizing emotions becoming poetry.
    Every poem begins as a feeling before it becomes a language.

    Translating What I Feel
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I stand, staring into the distance,
    alone in this instance—
    it’s just me and the breeze,
    running through the trees.

    I can feel cold dirt and stone
    beneath my feet.

    Wind brushes skin,
    feather-light
    like finger tips—
    it reminds me
    of how alone I am.

    Is that the truth
    or the depression talking?

    Because sometimes
    I feel alone
    when there are people
    around me.

    That last stanza
    moved like the tide.

    A long line—
    followed by one shorter,
    then longer again.

    Even when I don’t say it,
    the ocean imagery arrives.
    I don’t even have to try—
    it just pours out of me,
    like a dam breaking.

    Everything held back,
    rushes forth as the pen
    hits the page.

    You get the opening lines,
    that’s where the truth slips.
    Mid-stanza
    is where the truth sits.
    Then one or two lines
    to really make the truth hit.

    You see—
    this is the creative side of me.
    I feel something then translate it
    inside of me,
    from data to image
    then I spit it in ink on the page.

    I’ve spent 23 years
    translating what I feel—
    love, loneliness and rage…

    happiness and pain.

    Two sides of the coin,
    they’re different
    but the same.

    So there I stood…

    staring into the distance,
    unsure if I was alone in that instance—
    it was just me and the thoughts
    running through my mind.

    Slowly being translated
    into poetic lines.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Where Music Becomes Weather]
    Some songs feel like storms. Others feel like shelter. Where Music Becomes Weather explores how music shapes emotion, memory, and the landscapes we carry within us.

    [Returning to My Bones]
    Some dreams fade the moment we wake. Others leave behind emotions that linger long after reality returns. Returning to My Bones explores the strange grief of leaving a dream that felt real enough to matter.

    [Recognizes Home]
    A free-verse poem exploring the difference between love as dependency and love as choice. It challenges the idea that love must be need-based, instead centering the quiet strength of choosing someone while still remaining whole on your own.

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

  • Off Leash Thought: A Poem About a Wandering Mind and Creative Chaos | Rowan Evans Poetry

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece came from noticing something I’ve always lived with rather than consciously examined.

    My mind does not move in straight lines.

    It wanders, it loops, it returns with things I didn’t ask for, and it sometimes disappears long enough that I start to notice the absence more than the presence. I used to frame that as inconsistency or distraction, but over time I’ve come to understand it less as a flaw and more as a kind of behavior—unpredictable, but not unkind.

    The metaphor of a dog off leash wasn’t planned. It just appeared, which feels accurate to how most of my writing actually happens. I don’t usually “decide” on metaphors so much as I notice what my thoughts are already doing and try to follow them closely enough to write it down before they change direction.

    What I like about this piece is that it doesn’t try to correct the mind.

    It doesn’t punish it for wandering, or romanticize it into something effortless and poetic. It just observes it as something alive—sometimes useful, sometimes disruptive, always moving.

    There’s a strange honesty in accepting that not every thought arrives politely, and not every idea shows up when invited. Some of them run ahead. Some of them dig things up that were better left buried. Some of them come back with exactly what I needed without me knowing I needed it.

    And I think part of growing up, creatively and otherwise, is learning not just how to control that process—but how to live alongside it without turning it into an enemy.

    So this piece is, in a way, an act of recognition.

    Not mastery.

    Just recognition.

    — Rowan Evans

    A glowing ethereal dog made of light and ink runs freely through a surreal night cityscape filled with floating pages and abstract thought imagery.
    “Some thoughts were never meant to stay leashed.”

    Off Leash Thought
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I like to let my mind
    wander sometimes—
    like a dog off leash.
    It chases thoughts
    like cars,
    and makes a mess
    wherever it goes.

    Sometimes it comes back
    with ideas like sticks.
    Sometimes it’s problems
    I can’t dismiss.

    It returns to me panting,
    proud of whatever it found.
    I always forgive it.
    It’s only doing what it knows.

    Last week it ran off
    and didn’t come back for hours.
    Sometimes it digs holes
    in places I didn’t want to revisit.

    But—

    Most days it behaves.
    Some days it bites.
    Some days I wish I could leash it.
    Most days I’m glad I can’t.

    Sometimes it likes to play fetch,
    I throw away an idea—
    it brings it right back,
    like I have to write that.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Monster Theology]
    What if the monsters under the bed weren’t monsters at all? Monster Theology explores difference, belonging, and the human tendency to fear what we don’t understand through a conversation with the creatures we’ve spent our lives imagining.

    [Danny Phantom Theology]
    What begins as a metaphor borrowed from a childhood cartoon becomes something deeper: a reflection on existing between survival and possibility, exhaustion and hope, the life we have and the life we long for. Danny Phantom Theology explores what it means to keep moving toward a future that feels worth living.

    [Lone Wolf Theology]
    A philosophical pop-culture poem exploring freedom, identity, and self-authorship through the lens of superheroes, antiheroes, mythic archetypes, and personal rebellion. A declaration of autonomy in a world determined to write your story for you.

    [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.

    [The Needle Doesn’t Point North]
    “The Needle Doesn’t Point North” is a deeply personal free verse poem about displacement, identity, and spending a lifetime feeling emotionally disconnected from the place you were born while being drawn toward distant shores.

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

  • For the World to Remember Me Again | A Poem About Headaches, Disconnection & Finding Focus

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece began exactly where it sounds like it did:

    With a headache.

    Not a dramatic one. Not a poetic one.

    Just the kind that makes it difficult to focus. The kind where every sound feels a little sharper than it should. The kind where your thoughts stop moving cleanly and start dragging their feet.

    I sat down intending to write about that feeling.

    But somewhere along the way, the poem became less about pain and more about disconnection.

    Because what struck me wasn’t the headache itself.

    It was the strange sensation of feeling slightly removed from the world around me.

    Like reality had taken half a step backward.

    Like I was still present, but not entirely anchored.

    The images of echoes, warped thoughts, blurred edges, and slipping focus all came from trying to describe that experience as honestly as possible.

    What surprised me was where the poem ended.

    I started by writing about a physical sensation.

    I ended by writing about recognition.

    About the desire to feel fully present again.

    To feel connected to yourself, your surroundings, and the moment you’re living in.

    The title comes from that realization.

    Because sometimes discomfort doesn’t make us feel absent.

    It makes us feel forgotten.

    Not by other people, necessarily, but by the world itself.

    As though we’ve drifted just far enough away from ourselves to notice the distance.

    And all we can do is sit quietly and wait for clarity to return.

    For the world to remember us again.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary person sitting quietly with a headache as the world around them blurs and fades into soft echoes of light.
    “Some days it isn’t pain that feels overwhelming—it’s the distance between yourself and the world around you.”

    For the World to Remember Me Again
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ve got a headache,
    can’t see straight—
    vision blurring at the edges.

    It’s the kind of headache—
    where even the silence
    is loud.

    And I sit in it,
    this ringing hush,
    like the world has stepped back
    and left me echoing alone.

    It’s like—
    every sound echoes
    in a cavernous skull.

    Like my thoughts are ricocheting
    off the walls of me,
    coming back warped,
    a little less mine
    each time—

    the rhythm
    loses a little bit
    of its rhyme.

    Every pulse is thunder,
    every heartbeat a warning—
    a storm gathering
    behind my eyes.

    I try to focus,
    but the edges keep slipping—
    like my mind is smudging
    under its own weight.

    So I breathe,
    slow and deliberate,
    hoping the world will settle
    back into focus—

    or at least…

    stop slipping away.

    And I wait,
    quiet as I can,
    for the world
    to remember me again.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Before My Feet Touch the Floor]
    What happens when your dreams feel more real than your waking life? Before My Feet Touch the Floor explores the strange grief of waking up, the lingering memory of dream selves, and the quiet question of which version of us is truly real.

    [Recognizes Home]
    A free-verse poem exploring the difference between love as dependency and love as choice. It challenges the idea that love must be need-based, instead centering the quiet strength of choosing someone while still remaining whole on your own.

    [Monster Theology]
    What if the monsters under the bed weren’t monsters at all? Monster Theology explores difference, belonging, and the human tendency to fear what we don’t understand through a conversation with the creatures we’ve spent our lives imagining.

    [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.

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

  • Before My Feet Touch the Floor | A Poem About Dreams, Memory & Identity

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I’ve written about dreams for years.

    Not because I think they predict the future. Not because I think they’re magical.

    Because they feel real.

    Real enough that sometimes waking up feels stranger than the dream itself.

    I don’t think people talk enough about that moment between sleeping and waking—the brief period where both realities still exist at the same time.

    The dream is fading.

    The room is returning.

    And for a few seconds, you’re caught between them.

    That’s where this poem lives.

    I’ve had dreams that felt so vivid, so emotionally complete, that waking up felt like losing something. Not a person. Not a place. A version of myself.

    A self that existed somewhere else.

    The older I get, the more fascinated I become by that feeling.

    Why do some dreams linger for hours while entire days disappear from memory?

    Why do imaginary places sometimes feel more familiar than real ones?

    Why does waking occasionally feel like arriving somewhere instead of returning?

    This piece doesn’t try to answer those questions.

    It simply sits with them.

    Because there are mornings when the first thing I feel isn’t relief that the dream is over.

    It’s grief that it ended.

    And I suspect I’m not the only one.

    — Rowan Evans

    A woman sits on the edge of her bed between waking and dreaming as a surreal dream-world fades around her.
    Some mornings feel less like waking up and more like saying goodbye to a life that only existed while you were asleep.

    Before My Feet Touch the Floor
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Dreams—
    a common topic
    in my poetry.

    It’s because
    they don’t feel fake to me.
    They feel like memories.

    Do know what it’s like
    to wake up confused—
    because you’re in your own room?

    How do you live—
    when your dreams are more alive
    than your waking life?

    It’s as if the person I was
    a moment ago
    is still out there,
    waiting for me
    to return.

    So I lie there,
    trying to remember
    which version of me
    is the imposter—
    the one who wakes,
    or the one who wanders.

    Sometimes I think
    the dream‑me
    is the one who remembers,
    and I’m the one
    who forgets.

    Because if I feel more alive
    in the places I can’t stay,
    what does that make
    the life I return to?

    There’s a mourning
    no one talks about—
    the kind that happens
    before your feet
    touch the floor.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [The Streets I Walk When I Sleep]
    “The Streets I Walk When I Sleep” is a deeply intimate free verse poem about recurring dreams, emotional connection, longing across distance, and the strange feeling of remembering places and moments that have never happened in waking life.

    [Memories From a Life Yet to Come]
    Some dreams feel less like fantasy and more like memory. “Memories From a Life Yet to Come” is a reflective free verse poem about longing, displacement, emotional alignment, and the strange comfort of recognizing yourself more clearly in dreams than in waking life.

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

  • The Soil Won’t Write Me | A Poem About Displacement, Creativity, and Survival

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes writing becomes survival before you even realize that’s what it’s turned into.

    This piece came from the realization that I often disappear into craft when my mind gets too loud. I’ll drift into rhyme schemes, metaphors, cadence, imagery—anything that helps me stay afloat emotionally.

    Not because I’m trying to escape life completely.

    More because writing gives shape to feelings that otherwise feel impossible to carry.

    A lot of this poem revolves around rootlessness: the feeling of growing in soil that never fully nurtured you, while still refusing to break under the pressure of it.
    And I think that distinction matters.

    Struggling to root yourself somewhere doesn’t mean you’re weak. Sometimes it simply means the environment around you was never meant to hold the version of you that was trying to grow.

    So this piece became less about collapse and more about persistence.

    About continuing to create meaning even while feeling displaced.

    About refusing to let your environment define your voice.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure stands near the ocean at dusk holding a notebook while storm clouds part above exposed roots in cracked earth.
    Some roots fail because the soil was never meant to hold them.

    The Soil Won’t Write Me
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m sorry—
    I got lost again.

    Drifting between lines,
    bouncing between rhymes—
    if life’s a game,
    I keep forgetting to play.

    Too focused on the craft,
    lost sight of the life behind it.

    Don’t worry—
    I’m not in danger.

    I’ve just gone quiet—
    trying to silence
    a mental riot.

    Thoughts get too loud,
    become a stranger to myself.

    I get lost in the craft,
    turn the pen to a life raft.

    Ink crashes
    like waves overhead,
    carrying secrets
    in the cadence
    of the tides.

    Because every rhyme
    is a shoreline
    on ocean’s edge.

    And this is how it works for me—

    it starts small
    then quickly grows—
    a seed
    into a tree.

    A tree big and tall,
    but the foundation is weak—
    there are no roots here
    to anchor me.

    They say I’d waver
    in the slightest breeze.

    But that’s not true,
    just because I have no roots—
    doesn’t mean that I will falter,
    it just means
    life won’t come with ease.

    It just means
    this soil wasn’t right for me—

    and these people
    cannot speak for me,
    I write what I think
    in ink and let that
    carry what I mean.

    All that means—
    I won’t let this soil write for me.

    And I’ll deal with
    this stuck feeling,
    that I feel
    deep inside—
    in the only way
    I know how…

    I’ve got to write it out,
    can’t ignore it.

    Got to ride it out.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [The Needle Doesn’t Point North]
    “The Needle Doesn’t Point North” is a deeply personal free verse poem about displacement, identity, and spending a lifetime feeling emotionally disconnected from the place you were born while being drawn toward distant shores.

    [Weather in My Chest]
    “Weather in My Chest” is a free verse poem about emotional hyperawareness, social tension, and the quiet experience of carrying internal storms into rooms that react before a singl[e word is spoken.

    [Sound as a Vessel]
    “Sound as a Vessel” is a free verse poem about music as emotional architecture, exploring how international artists and soundscapes shaped identity, creativity, memory, and poetic voice.

    [Just Knowing You Has Been Enough]
    “Just Knowing You Has Been Enough” is a deeply vulnerable free verse poem about unspoken love, emotional fear, coded confessions, and the quiet truth of caring for someone without needing perfection in return.

    [The Streets I Walk When I Sleep]
    “The Streets I Walk When I Sleep” is a deeply intimate free verse poem about recurring dreams, emotional connection, longing across distance, and the strange feeling of remembering places and moments that have never happened in waking life.

    [Memories From a Life Yet to Come]
    Some dreams feel less like fantasy and more like memory. “Memories From a Life Yet to Come” is a reflective free verse poem about longing, displacement, emotional alignment, and the strange comfort of recognizing yourself more clearly in dreams than in waking life

    [Separate Timelines]
    “Separate Timelines” is a surreal and deeply introspective free verse poem about emotional distance, time zones, vulnerability, and the fear of losing a connection that already feels meaningful before the words are ever spoken aloud.

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

  • Weather in My Chest | A Poem About Emotional Sensitivity and Social Tension

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some people can walk into a room and never notice the atmosphere change.

    I’ve never been one of them.

    I notice tone shifts, silence, tension, body language, eye contact, emotional static—sometimes before a word is even spoken. Rooms have always felt alive to me in that way, almost like weather systems with their own pressure and temperature.

    For a long time, I thought that sensitivity meant something was wrong with me.

    But over time, I realized I wasn’t imagining things. I was just noticing things other people either missed or ignored.

    This piece came from that feeling: walking into spaces and immediately sensing the emotional climate shift around you.

    Not because you’re dangerous. Not because you want attention.

    But because some people carry storms quietly, and other people instinctively react to the pressure.

    The important part is this:

    Not every storm is destructive.

    Sometimes thunder is just thunder. Sometimes lightning never comes.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure stands quietly in a crowded room as storm clouds and atmospheric tension subtly gather around them.
    Some people don’t bring storms into rooms—they just notice the pressure before everyone else does.

    Weather in My Chest
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I enter rooms and I can feel
    the weather shift,
    the emotion gets thick
    like humidity—
    and the temperature
    begins to rise.

    And eyes
    move like clouds
    across the sky
    as they follow me.

    Drifting toward
    the horizon line,
    at the edge of the room.

    I can hear the whispers
    rumble like thunder,
    as the questions
    begin to spin.

    “What are they doing here?”
    “Who invited them?”

    I’ve learned
    to stand still
    in the middle of it,
    let the noise
    break around me
    like rain on concrete.

    “Why are they so quiet?”
    “Are they judging us?”

    They don’t know
    I’m not here
    to bring the storm—

    I just carry weather
    in my chest,
    and rooms react
    how they react.

    I’m not the danger
    they whisper about—

    I’m just the one
    who notices
    the temperature
    before anyone else does.

    They don’t realize
    I’ve felt this
    my whole life—
    rooms shifting,
    eyes gathering,
    like weather
    drawn to heat.

    I feel the pressure
    drop behind me,
    the way people tense
    like they’re waiting—

    for lightning
    that never comes.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Sound as a Vessel]
    “Sound as a Vessel” is a free verse poem about music as emotional architecture, exploring how international artists and soundscapes shaped identity, creativity, memory, and poetic voice.

    [Just Knowing You Has Been Enough]
    “Just Knowing You Has Been Enough” is a deeply vulnerable free verse poem about unspoken love, emotional fear, coded confessions, and the quiet truth of caring for someone without needing perfection in return.

    [The Streets I Walk When I Sleep]
    “The Streets I Walk When I Sleep” is a deeply intimate free verse poem about recurring dreams, emotional connection, longing across distance, and the strange feeling of remembering places and moments that have never happened in waking life.

    [Memories From a Life Yet to Come]
    Some dreams feel less like fantasy and more like memory. “Memories From a Life Yet to Come” is a reflective free verse poem about longing, displacement, emotional alignment, and the strange comfort of recognizing yourself more clearly in dreams than in waking life

    [Separate Timelines]
    “Separate Timelines” is a surreal and deeply introspective free verse poem about emotional distance, time zones, vulnerability, and the fear of losing a connection that already feels meaningful before the words are ever spoken aloud.

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

  • 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]