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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: mindfulness

  • Leave No Self Behind | A Poem About Healing, Memory & Self-Acceptance

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem grew out of a realization that getting “lost” isn’t always the same as losing yourself.

    I’ve written many pieces about dreams, memory, shifting landscapes, and wandering through places that seem to exist somewhere between reality and imagination. Over time, I realized those places weren’t asking me to escape who I was—they were asking me to revisit the parts of myself I had left behind.

    We often talk about “finding ourselves” as though there’s one true version waiting to be discovered. My experience has been almost the opposite. Every season of life leaves behind another version of us: the frightened one, the hopeful one, the grieving one, the joyful one. None of them disappear simply because we’ve grown older.

    Healing, at least for me, isn’t replacing those earlier selves.

    It’s learning to walk beside them without shame.

    This poem is an invitation to stop treating old versions of ourselves as mistakes to erase and instead see them as companions who helped us survive long enough to become who we are today.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure walking through a dreamlike hallway where each open doorway reveals a different landscape representing memories and past versions of the self.
    Healing isn’t finding one true self—it’s learning to walk beside every version of yourself with compassion.

    Leave No Self Behind
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I feel like I’ve lost myself again—
    don’t know when it began,
    but I get lost a lot.

    It doesn’t take much for me
    to get lost in thought—

    I wander off
    without meaning to,
    slipping between memories
    like loose floorboards.

    One thought opens a door,
    another pulls me down a hallway,
    and suddenly I’m somewhere
    I didn’t plan to be—

    with some version of me
    I didn’t plan to meet.

    Sometimes the hallway
    tilts into something else—

    a shoreline I’ve walked in sleep,
    a city humming with heat,
    a room I haven’t entered in years.

    The world shifts
    without warning,
    and I follow it
    the way I follow dreams—

    half-aware,
    half-afraid
    of what I’ll find
    in the scene change.

    I never know
    which version of me
    I’ll find in those places—

    the one who’s tired,
    the one who’s trying,
    the one who’s still carrying
    things I swore I let go.

    Sometimes I meet
    the versions of me
    I thought I’d outgrown—

    the one who flinches,
    the one who freezes,
    the one who still thinks
    they’re hard to love.

    And I walk with them
    for a while,
    through whatever memory
    the hallway decides to show—

    letting them speak,
    letting them breathe,
    letting them…

    exist.

    Without rushing them back
    into the dark.

    And maybe that’s
    what finding myself
    really looks like—

    not a single moment
    of clarity,
    not a sudden return,
    but walking through
    every hallway
    my mind opens,
    meeting every version
    I’ve ever been,
    and letting them stay
    long enough
    to feel seen.

    Maybe I’m not lost.

    Maybe I’m just learning
    how to carry
    all the selves
    I used to abandon
    when the world
    felt too loud.

    Maybe this time…

    I won’t leave anyone—

    behind.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Where the Metaphors Lead]
    Some truths are easier to write than they are to say aloud. “Where the Metaphors Lead” explores the quiet space between dreams, confession, and the courage it takes to let another person know how deeply they’ve become woven into your inner world.

    [Noon Is Loud]
    If four in the morning belongs to truth, then noon belongs to impossible memories. Noon Is Loud is a playful free verse poem filled with absurd boasts, pop culture references, and tongue-in-cheek mythology that explores how easily imagination can rewrite reality.

    [5:01 (Pull the Punchline Back)]
    What happens when a confessional poet instinctively hides every confession behind a joke? 5:01 (Pull the Punchline Back) explores humor as emotional armor, the speed of an overactive mind, and the difficult choice between making people laugh and letting them see what’s really there.

    [Chemical X]
    Chemical X explores the rapid, associative way one creative mind moves—from cartoons to sports, comic books to music—revealing that inspiration isn’t linear, but a collision of memory, humor, rhythm, and intuition.

    [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.

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

  • When the Fog Steps Back – A Poem About Clarity After Depression

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some moments don’t arrive loudly.

    There’s no breakthrough. No sudden shift that changes everything at once.

    Sometimes, it’s just a little space.

    A brief pause in the weight. A moment where your thoughts aren’t pressing in from every direction. Where things feel a little clearer–not fixed, not solved, just… easier to sit in.

    This piece comes from one of those moments.

    Not a transformation.

    Just a reminder that clarity still exists–and that when it shows up, even briefly, it’s worth acknowledging.

    — Rowan Evans

    Fog lifting from a quiet landscape as soft light reveals clarity and calm
    Clarity doesn’t always stay—but sometimes, it shows up just long enough to remind you it’s still there.

    When the Fog Steps Back
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    The weight has shifted,
    the fog has lifted—
    and I am feeling
    a little more free.

    The world looks sharper now,
    edges returning,
    colors remembering themselves.

    Maybe I’m remembering myself too.

    I’m not saying I’ve got my life together—
    just that the fog finally backed up
    and gave me a little space.

    I’ll take the win.

    Clarity doesn’t visit often,
    but when it does…

    I let it stay
    as long as it wants.

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

  • Every Thought Between – A Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Introduction

    Sometimes, the mind cannot stop wandering to the one who lingers in your heart. This little reflection captures that quiet, unending presence—the person who inhabits every corner of thought, even in silence.

    — Rowan Evans

    Abstract golden light and blurred shapes representing quiet reflection and lingering thoughts.
    Every thought between—where silence still carries your presence.

    Every Thought Between
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    There is not a moment
    that you do not
    cross my mind.
    You are my first thought,
    and my last—
    and every thought between.

    Even silence
    sounds like you.

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

  • Since I Was Thirteen (Fluent in Survival) – Rowan Evans Poetry

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem is not about wanting to die.
    It is about learning how to survive long before learning how to live.

    A shadowed figure in a dimly lit room, reflecting in solitude, surrounded by deep shadows and soft light, evoking introspection and survival.
    Reflecting on survival, solitude, and the quiet strength found in shadows.

    Since I Was Thirteen (Fluent in Survival)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I feel like I’m lost,
    I’m wandering.
    Twisted thoughts,
    I’m pondering.

    My demise
    in a life I despise.
    It’s not that I want to die—
    I’m just tired
    of trying to survive.

    I want to be happy.
    I’m alive.

    But my head
    is so full of dread—
    every morning
    a negotiation
    just to get out of bed.

    Body feels heavy,
    limbs lagging—
    everything moves
    in slow-motion.

    Slipping into shadows—
    going home.
    The light has never felt like mine.
    I was born in the shadows,
    raised in the shade.
    Darkness has been
    my mindscape—
    since I was thirteen.

    I learned early
    how to make myself small—
    how to soften my footsteps
    inside my own head.

    I memorized the weight of silence,
    learned which thoughts were safe to keep
    and which ones
    needed to stay buried.

    Survival became a second language,
    spoken fluently,
    even when no one was listening.

    I say I’m alive
    like it’s a defense—
    like survival
    should be enough.

    But living
    feels like something other people do
    without rehearsing it first.

    Closing Note

    I wrote this for anyone who learned survival before they learned safety.
    For those who are still here, even when “alive” feels like a negotiation.
    You are not failing — you are fluent in something the world never taught gently.

    For more poetry, check out the archives: [The Library of Ashes]

  • Two Days: A Poem on Chaos, Resilience, and Care by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Life can change in a heartbeat. I wrote this piece over the last couple of days because the world reminded me how fragile and urgent everything can feel—how fast a life, a home, a moment can turn to smoke.

    Even in the chaos, even when fear and exhaustion weigh heavy, there’s still presence. There’s still breath. There’s still love.

    This poem is for those people who occupy your heart even when everything else seems to collapse. For the ones you carry in your thoughts, your prayers, your wishes for safety and light. For my muse, her sister, and her family—I hope you feel the strength of care here, even across the distance, even across the noise of the world.

    Sometimes, being present is enough. Sometimes, staying steady, keeping your heart open, and wishing well for those you love is all that matters.

    Two people sitting in a car at night, watching firefighters at a nearby apartment with smoke and emergency lights surrounding the scene.
    Watching chaos unfold, yet finding calm in presence, breath, and love.

    Two Days
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Last-minute decision—
    I moved.

    My brother called.
    Tuesday.
    “Want to move on Thursday?”
    “Okay.”
    I packed my life in a day,
    we made good time,
    settled into the new place—
    first night soft, quiet, simple.

    Then last night—
    one day in—
    the world cracked open.

    Sparks.
    Flames.
    A fist pounding the door.
    “Fire! Get out!”
    And suddenly everything I own
    felt like smoke.

    We stood outside for hours,
    feet aching—hearts racing,
    watching firefighters pour in and out,
    chasing the glow behind thin walls.
    Their boots thundered.
    Their voices echoed.
    I just stood there,
    trying to steady my breath,
    thinking how fast a life can turn to smoke.

    Two days.
    Two moves.
    One body carrying
    exhaustion and adrenaline
    in the same heartbeat.

    But I’m still here.
    The walls are still standing.
    And maybe…
    that’s enough for tonight.

    And even in all that chaos,
    you never left my mind.
    I carried thoughts of you,
    your family,
    and the prayers I’ve whispered
    for days.

    If you are interested in more of my poetry, you can find it here: The Library of Ashes

  • Slow My Mind – A Poetic Exploration of Restless Thoughts and Fragile Calm

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I dwell in a mind that will not rest, a labyrinth of whispers and claws. Inhale, exhale—Mary Jane becomes my temporary sanctuary, a borrowed grace against the storm within. This poem is a confession to that restless shadow, a devotion to fragile moments of calm, and an ode to the quiet endurance of a soul perpetually awake in its own chaos.

    Solitary figure in a smoky, dimly lit room, lost in thought amid curling tendrils of smoke.
    Seeking fragile calm in the midst of a restless mind—Slow My Mind by Rowan Evans.

    Slow My Mind
    By Rowan Evans

    I smoke to slow my thoughts—
    ‘Cause my brain, it talks too much.
    In the haze, I steal a breath,
    A fleeting peace, a borrowed hush.

    Chaos claws in every corner,
    Rapid-fire whispers, sharp and cruel.
    Each one a knife against my skull,
    A storm that never sleeps, never yields.

    Mary Jane, my temporary friend,
    In your smoke, the noise may bend.
    You hush the fire, you blur the ache,
    A fleeting balm, a fragile break.

    I light the flame, inhale the calm,
    Feel the tension curl from my palm.
    In tendrils of smoke, I seek a place
    Where the world moves slower, soft, displaced.

    Yet even in your smoky grace,
    I know relief will not embrace
    The truths I hide, the shadows I keep—
    A restless mind, a wakeful sleep.

    Your comfort is a borrowed hand,
    A fragile lifeline in shifting sand.
    And still, I return, inhale, endure,
    For one more moment, one more cure.

    I smoke to slow my thoughts—
    ‘Cause my brain will never rest.
    In this haze, I find my ground,
    A fragile calm, a quiet quest.

    Closing Thoughts

    Even in the haze, even when the mind won’t rest, I endure. One breath. One moment. One fragile shard of calm to hold onto.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    Journey into the Hexverse

    Step into the Hexverse, where ink drips like blood and shadows weave stories of desire, chaos, and devotion. Each poem is a spark—an echo of fire, a fragment of soul. Traverse these realms and meet the voices that haunt, seduce, and illuminate:

    Punchline – Rowan Evans
    – A dark comedy of survival, laughter, and jagged grace.

    Sanguine Serenade – HxNightshade
    – A hymn of forbidden desire, passion, and whispered lust.

    Beneath the Skin – B.D. Nightshade
    – The intimate torment of craving and surrender, a fevered dance with pain.

    Step closer. Let each verse pull you deeper, a winding path through shadow and flame, until you emerge transformed—scarred, awed, and fully awake in the Hexverse.

    ✦ Poetic Commissions by Rowan Evans ✦

    Every word I write is a devotion, a fragment of shadow and light carefully shaped into verse. On my Ko-fi, I offer custom poems, personalized rituals in language, and lyrical messages crafted just for you—or someone you wish to honor, surprise, or remember.

    Whether you seek:

    A poem for a loved one, friend, or muse

    A ritualized or thematic verse for special occasions

    A written reflection to say everything you struggle to

    …each commission is approached with care, reverence, and the intensity of my signature Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism.

    ✨ Special Offer: Use code NGCR25 at checkout to receive 25% off any commission until the end of the month. Let these words become your keepsake, your offering, your moment of devotion.

    Ko-Fi