This piece isn’t about hating a place. It’s about refusing to perform pride I don’t feel.
For most of my life, I’ve carried a quiet disconnect—and what’s always surprised me isn’t the feeling itself, but how personal other people take it. As if my lack of attachment is an accusation.
It isn’t.
It’s just honesty.
Be Proud is about boundaries. About recognizing that someone else’s love for something doesn’t require my imitation. And that some feelings run too deep to be argued out of existence.
— Rowan Evans
You can love it. I just don’t.
Be Proud Poetry by Rowan Evans
It’s always been funny to me,
the way people argue with me.
Why does my disconnect
affect you so badly?
Why do you take
my wanting to leave,
so personal?
If you’re proud,
be proud—
I don’t care,
honestly.
You’re wasting your breath,
you’re wasting your time—
because, you’re never going to
change my mind.
I’ve been like this
for most of my life,
so tell me—
do you really think
your opinion will
change something
so marrow deep?
Look, you love America—
I get it, I really do,
and I wish
I was a little more
like you.
This poem is about the difference between performance and presence. About words that are used to impress versus words that are spoken because they are true. I wrote this for the kind of connection that doesn’t need charm, tricks, or grand gestures—only honesty and attention.
Quietly Rearrangedis about how real affection doesn’t demand change, but inspires it. How being genuinely seen can shift the way you stand in the world without ever asking you to move. It’s a reminder that the most powerful influence someone can have on us is simply being who they are—openly, softly, and without pretense.
Some people speak to gain. Some people speak to give. This poem knows the difference.
Real connection doesn’t demand change—it quietly inspires it.
Quietly Rearranged Poetry by Rowan Evans
I’m not a charmer,
I don’t work with snakes—
I say fuck fakes.
I’m a truth‑teller,
and my words
are worth
a fortune.
He says sweet nothings
that are actually nothing—
just words in costume,
trying to gain things.
I whisper sweet nothings
and twist them into somethings.
I’ll say every thought
of what you mean to me.
So go ahead—put me on the spot,
I’ll talk
until you tell me to stop.
Alright—so here I go.
What do I like about you?
Your eyes.
Your smile.
The way your voice softens
when you laugh,
when you say my name
it becomes the softest sound.
And your personality?
Second to none.
It’s the way your existence
quietly rearranges me.
Makes me want to stand straighter,
choose better,
reach further—
not because you asked,
but because you exist.
Sometimes love sits just behind the teeth—aching to be said, yet held back by care, timing, or fear of changing what already feels sacred. I Love— (A Dam About to Break) was born from that space between silence and confession, from a dream that lingered like static under the skin.
It’s not about saying the words out loud. It’s about honoring what they mean, and recognizing the quiet pressure of emotion when it’s both too much and not enough.
This is a poem about restraint, longing, and the kind of connection that hums quietly beneath the surface—steady, dangerous, and deeply human.
“Even silence trembles when the heart is full.” — Visual concept for “I Love— (A Dam About to Break)” by Rowan Evans.
I Love— (A Dam About to Break) Poetry by Rowan Evans
I crashed— Two hours. A nap. Awoke to the residue, the images faded. Obscure. Background haze. The only clear picture— Your face. The feelings clear. Safe. Close. Anxious. Our connection, and the words on the tip of my tongue.
“I love—”
the idea of getting close to you, as friends of course. (And maybe more.) I try to change the course of my thoughts. (They always circle back.) The words linger, like a rug burn— or the water pressing against the wall of a dam. A dam quickly weakening. About to break, about to flood. (Evacuate the valley below.)
Just know— I don’t take it lightly, the trust you put in me. That’s all I ever wanted— was to earn that, to know that you saw me— saw I was true, and there for you. Like I said I always would be. Always will be. I’m still not going anywhere, still not gonna leave.
And I’ve got so much I want to say. It rests right there, on the tip of my tongue. Even my lips refuse to stay closed— and words slip through. I just wanna say—
“I love—”
how close we’ve gotten over the last year. I can’t wait until we can be face to face, side by side. I know it’ll be the best time of my life, and I hope it’ll be yours too. Because you deserve it, a moment of peace, a moment of clarity. And I don’t say that out of pity or charity, I mean it. With every fiber of my being, I truly mean it.
And if I could say everything I want to say, maybe things would change. But I’m trying to keep restraint— because I don’t want to add pressure or stress. The asshole does enough that. I just want to be— one of many reasons you smile. I don’t need to be the only one. I don’t need to be the core source of your happiness. (I just want to be part of it.) So please, try to believe when I say…
“I love—”
Everything about you. There is not a thing I would change, or rearrange. Your attitude is perfection. The way you talk your shit, I love it. (No really, I do.) You say you’re crazy? Well I love that too. (Your crazy makes me accept mine.)
Poetry by Rowan Evans 