←

Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: modern poetry

  • Maybe You’ll Want Me Too | A Poem About Affection, Attachment, and Being Chosen

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some poems arrive because of a grand idea.

    Others arrive because a single sentence refuses to leave.

    This was one of those.

    The poem began when I remembered a conversation. A joke, really. Someone once described themselves as being “like a drug” and we laughed about it. At the time, it felt playful, exaggerated, harmless.

    But memory has a way of revisiting things from a different angle.

    When I thought about that conversation later, I realized what interested me wasn’t the comparison itself. It was the experience of slowly realizing that someone has become part of your everyday thoughts without you noticing exactly when it happened.

    One day they’re simply someone you know.

    Then they’re someone you think about.

    Then they’re someone who quietly occupies space in your mind when nothing else is demanding your attention.

    The drug metaphor gave me a doorway into the poem, but it isn’t really what the poem is about.

    It’s about affection.

    It’s about attachment.

    It’s about the strange vulnerability of admitting that someone matters.

    More than that, it’s about the difference between being needed and being wanted.

    Need can feel transactional.

    Want feels chosen.

    The final lines became the emotional center for me because they capture a hope I think many people carry but rarely say aloud:

    Not that someone has to stay.

    Not that someone owes us their attention.

    Just that maybe, if given the choice, they would choose us too.

    Like a lot of my recent work, humor and metaphor show up first. They’re familiar territory. They’re comfortable. They make difficult things easier to approach.

    But beneath the jokes, the poem is doing what many of my poems eventually do.

    It’s confessing.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure standing beneath glowing city lights as colorful streams of light drift through the air, symbolizing affection, attachment, and lingering thoughts of someone special
    Sometimes affection arrives quietly—slipping into your thoughts until you realize someone has become part of your everyday world. ✨

    Maybe You’ll Want Me Too
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I remember when you said—
    you are like a drug.

    It was all laughs
    about your exes being hooked,
    still shook by the thoughts of you.

    But I was getting second-hand
    contact highs—

    now I feel addicted too.

    It’s like you’re in my bloodstream.
    You’ve rewired my brain,
    rebalanced the chemical compounds—
    you’re in nearly every single thought now.

    I try to hide it behind metaphors
    and jokes—an attempt to mask
    the fragile hope—

    that you won’t need me,
    but maybe you’ll want me too.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [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.

    [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 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.

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

  • 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]

  • Monster Theology | A Poem About Difference, Fear, and Human Connection

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I’ve always thought it was strange that monsters get such bad press.

    Most of them never asked to be monsters in the first place.

    They’re usually just the things we’re afraid of. The things we don’t understand. The things we refuse to look at directly.

    What would happen if I stopped fearing the monsters under the bed and actually talked to them?

    The answer surprised me.

    Because once the conversation began, the monsters behaving like monsters.

    They became neighbors.

    Parents.

    Friends.

    People with lives beyond the role they had been assigned in my imagination.

    And that’s where the poem’s real interest emerged.

    Not in monsters themselves, but in the human tendency to create them.

    We have a habit of turning difference into danger.

    A habit of mistaking unfamiliarity for threat.

    A habit of reducing people to a single trait, label, identity, or assumption until they become something easier to fear than understand.

    The monsters in this poem don’t seem to share that habit.

    They celebrate what makes them unique.

    They recognize difference without treating it as division.

    They understand something many of us spend our lives trying to learn:

    There is a difference between being different and being separate.

    That’s where the title comes from.

    Theology is simply the study of what we believe.

    And Monster Theology asks a simple question:

    What if the monsters were better at being human than we are?

    Maybe the real lesson isn’t learning how to defeat monsters.

    Maybe it’s learning how to stop creating them.

    — Rowan Evans

    A child sits peacefully with a group of friendly monsters in a softly lit bedroom, symbolizing understanding and acceptance across differences.
    “Maybe the real lesson isn’t learning how to defeat monsters. Maybe it’s learning how to stop creating them.”

    Monster Theology
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ve made friends
    with the monsters—
    in my closet,
    and under the bed.

    They used to scare me,
    but I realized
    I wasn’t judging them
    fairly.

    These monsters
    have feelings,
    children and lives
    outside of my room.

    I’m not the only one
    they visit,
    I’m not the only friend
    they have.

    They tell me
    about the others
    sometimes.

    But they aren’t allowed
    to talk about that a lot.

    So we’ll stick to the difference
    between their world and ours.

    They say it’s much the same,
    many lands with many peoples—
    but they find our focus
    on differences strange.

    They don’t understand
    why we fear what makes us unique.
    They don’t understand
    why we can’t acknowledge our strengths
    without diminishing others.

    To them—
    monsters are monsters,
    they are all the same
    but not.

    They celebrate
    what makes them different,
    the things
    that make them unique.

    Celebrate.
    Not separate.

    That’s the monster motto.

    And sometimes I wish
    we lived like they do—

    less afraid
    of what makes us different,

    less eager
    to turn each other
    into monsters.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [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.

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

  • Raccoons in Silk Pajamas | An Absurdist Free Verse Poem About Language Letting Loose

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem started where a lot of my more playful pieces begin: with a chain reaction of absurd images that refused to behave.

    I didn’t sit down with a structure in mind. I just let the language run until it started building its own logic—one that doesn’t really care about realism, linear progression, or whether raccoons should realistically be wearing silk pajamas in the first place.

    The “Space Chickens” at the beginning weren’t planned as a motif. They became one because they felt like the kind of strange, mildly accusatory presence that only makes sense in a world where camels are in parked cars and elephants are stored in jam jars.

    From there, the poem just escalates.

    Raccoons appear. Then llamas. Then the question of pajamas becomes a philosophical problem. Somewhere in the middle, the poem realizes it is no longer interested in consistency—it’s interested in momentum.

    There’s a moment where the speaker tries to impose logic:

    “Don’t be absurd.”

    But by that point, absurdity has already won.

    What I find interesting about this piece is that it still has a kind of emotional continuity even without narrative stability. It moves the way thoughts move when you’re tired, distracted, or laughing at your own internal associations—jumping from one idea to another through sound, memory, and cultural reference rather than logic.

    Even the ending, with its sudden shift into pop culture and cinematic reference, is less about conclusion and more about acknowledgment. The poem becomes aware of itself mid-collapse and decides to lean into it rather than resolve it.

    In that sense, it’s not really about raccoons.

    It’s about the way language behaves when you stop trying to control it.

    And sometimes, that’s where the most honest writing shows up.

    — Rowan Evans

    A raccoon wearing silk pajamas rides a llama beneath a colorful cosmic sky filled with surreal creatures and absurd imagery.
    When logic leaves the room, language starts having fun.

    Raccoons in Silk Pajamas
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I had to get away
    from the Space Chickens,
    they were a little too judgmental—

    always questioning what I wore,
    shouting implied curses
    spoken in cursive.

    It was camels in parked cars,
    elephants in jam jars…

    Now it’s—

    raccoons in silk pajamas,
    and they’re not alone—
    they’re riding llamas.

    “Are the llamas
    wearing silk pajamas?”

    Don’t be absurd.
    That’s the weirdest thing
    I’ve ever heard—

    llamas in pajamas?

    No, just raccoons
    and bananas.

    I was once a
    farmer on Pluto,
    a librarian on Mars—
    a poet amongst the stars.
    Now I’m just
    an astronaut in the ocean,
    rolling in the deep.

    Dude—
    you just referenced Adele.

    Like it is 2001 again.
    It’s a Space Odyssey

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    See where it all began.

    [Pluto Farmer]
    A whimsical absurdist poem about being a certified weirdo, farming space carrots on Pluto, and refusing to fit into anyone else’s definition of “normal.”

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

  • Frankenstein’s Monster (and I’m the Doctor) | Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem didn’t start with a message.

    It started with frustration.

    Not the kind that arrives fully formed or carefully structured—but the kind that builds in fragments. Small irritations. Cultural noise. Half-remembered references. Thoughts that don’t arrive in order, but all at once.

    What I wanted to capture here wasn’t a linear argument or a polished reflection on anger or identity.

    It was the process itself.

    The way the mind can jump from one idea to another without asking permission. The way language doesn’t always behave politely. The way emotion and memory and absurdity can occupy the same space without resolving into anything clean.

    The Batman reference, the cartoon interruption, the sudden shift in tone—none of it is meant to smooth into coherence.

    It’s meant to feel like it actually feels inside the moment of thinking it.

    The line “This is how my mind works” is the turning point for me in the piece.

    Not because it explains everything, but because it stops pretending everything needs to be explained.

    Some poems are built to argue a point.

    This one is built to show the mechanism.

    And the ending—“Frankenstein’s Monster / And I’m the doctor”—isn’t meant as metaphor in the traditional sense.

    It’s closer to recognition.

    That the thing being called chaos is also something being assembled. Intentionally or not. Carefully or not. But still assembled.

    And that sometimes the person inside the noise is also the one holding the pieces.

    — Rowan Evans

    A poet in a gothic laboratory assembling glowing fragments of words and images into a patchwork creation made from poetry and imagination.
    “My poetry? Frankenstein’s Monster. And I’m the doctor.” Sometimes creativity isn’t about finding order—it’s about assembling the pieces and bringing them to life.

    Frankenstein’s Monster (and I’m the Doctor)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m sick of my surroundings;
    sick of these fakes,
    sick of the snakes,
    they’re all just Batman villains—
    Two-face.

    Crazy is the way
    they made me.
    Twisted thoughts
    that wouldn’t stop—
    pop goes the weasel,
    I R Baboon.

    This is how my mind works.
    It links two things
    that are seemingly opposites.
    They have nothing in common,
    but still I piece them together—

    my poetry?
    Frankenstein’s Monster.

    And I’m the doctor.

    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.

    [It’s Just Me but Super]
    A playful free-verse poem about cartoons, imagination, cosmic wanderings, and the strange magic of creativity. Through wordplay, nostalgia, and absurd humor, Rowan Evans explores what happens when ordinary life meets an extraordinary imagination.

    [100 Grand and a Book Deal]
    A playful collision of candy bars, comic book heroes, basketball legends, and cosmic metaphors. Beneath the jokes lies a reflection on twenty-three years of writing, creativity, and the dream of building something lasting one line at a time.

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

  • Violets Are Violet (Roses Are Complicated) | A Poem About Overthinking Romance

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem began with a simple observation:

    Violets aren’t blue.

    They’re violet.

    Which, admittedly, is not a revelation likely to change the course of human history.

    But once I started thinking about it, the entire cliché began to unravel.

    Because roses aren’t always red either.

    And then I found myself researching flower symbolism, color meanings, and all the ways a four-line nursery-rhyme structure completely falls apart under even the mildest amount of scrutiny.

    At some point, the poem stopped being about flowers.

    It became about overthinking.

    About taking a perfectly functional piece of language and pulling on a loose thread until the entire sweater comes apart in your hands.

    Which, if I’m being honest, describes a significant percentage of my writing process.

    What makes me laugh about this piece is that it starts as a correction and ends as a complaint.

    Not about roses.

    Not about violets.

    About the format itself.

    Because the more precise and accurate I tried to make the original cliché, the more impossible it became to actually say anything romantic.

    Eventually I arrived at the only logical conclusion:

    Roses are complicated.

    Violets are violet.

    And sometimes analysis is the natural predator of romance.

    — Rowan Evans

    Multicolored roses and violet flowers surrounding scattered handwritten notes about flower symbolism and romance.
    Sometimes the quickest way to ruin a cliché is to fact-check it. Roses are complicated. Violets are violet. Romance may never recover. 🌹💜

    Violets Are Violet (Roses Are Complicated)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Roses are red,
    violets aren’t blue.
    Also roses
    aren’t always red.

    Red is the classic:
    romance, true love
    and passion.

    Pink conveys
    gratitude, grace,
    joy and admiration.

    Yellow denotes
    friendship, joy,
    warmth and caring.

    White represents
    innocence,
    purity, youth
    and new beginnings.

    And there’s at least
    four more—
    Coral, Peach,
    Lavender and Orange.

    So I guess
    what I’m trying
    to say is—

    Roses
    come in an assortment of colors,
    Violets are violet—
    and this format
    makes romance hard.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [It’s Just Me but Super]
    A playful free-verse poem about cartoons, imagination, cosmic wanderings, and the strange magic of creativity. Through wordplay, nostalgia, and absurd humor, Rowan Evans explores what happens when ordinary life meets an extraordinary imagination.

    [100 Grand and a Book Deal]
    A playful collision of candy bars, comic book heroes, basketball legends, and cosmic metaphors. Beneath the jokes lies a reflection on twenty-three years of writing, creativity, and the dream of building something lasting one line at a time.

    [Copy of a Copy]
    A sharp, self-aware poem about originality, imitation, and the search for an authentic creative voice. What begins as a diss gradually reveals itself as a meditation on authorship, influence, and the things that can never truly be copied.

    [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.

    [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.

    [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]

  • 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]

  • Just Knowing You Has Been Enough | A Poem About Fear, Love, and Emotional Connection

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some feelings become difficult to carry once they stop being hypothetical.

    You rehearse the words in your head, hide them in poems, disguise them as metaphors, bury them in “what ifs” and dream sequences—because saying them plainly makes them real.

    This piece came from that space between silence and confession.

    The strange place where fear and honesty start sounding alike.

    Not fear of loving someone.

    Fear of changing something that already matters deeply to you.

    Because sometimes the connection itself becomes so important that risking it feels terrifying.

    And sometimes love isn’t about perfection at all.

    Sometimes it’s just about seeing someone clearly—and caring anyway.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary person sits beside a softly lit window at night holding an open notebook in a quiet reflective atmosphere.
    Some truths stay hidden in poems long before they’re ever spoken aloud.

    Just Knowing You Has Been Enough
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I went quiet,
    but you never left my mind.

    I was silent—
    I had a lot to say,
    just didn’t know how to say it.

    I was afraid.
    Scared out of my mind.

    Everything I could have said,
    it didn’t feel right.
    It felt too heavy—
    too hard to carry.

    I had to set it down
    for a while.

    I had to sit with it,
    the words only spoken
    in my dreams.

    Dreams where,
    you never have the chance
    to respond.

    It feels wrong.

    But I wouldn’t want to
    speak for you.

    It’s been this way
    for a while now.

    I get too in my head,
    too hung up on
    what I have said—

    and what I want to say.

    They aren’t always
    the same.

    I’ve dropped hints
    in coded lines,
    wrote the words plain
    in poems about dreams—
    knowing they’d get overlooked.

    They’re not serious.

    But know this,
    the words written here
    are me being honest:

    I’m scared.
    I’m terrified,
    it’s true—
    but I really do
    love you.

    There’s no other way
    to say it.

    Because what is love—
    if not bias?

    And I am biased.

    Now what’s bias,
    if not seeing perfection
    where there is none?

    Because I know you’re not perfect—
    I’ve seen the cracks.
    I’ve listened to your stories,
    heard the lore—

    but here’s the thing,
    it’s not about perfection
    or lack thereof—
    it never has been.

    It’s about connection.

    It always has been.
    That’s all I’ve ever wanted,
    whatever shape that takes—
    I can be happy.

    Just knowing you
    has been enough.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [The Streets I Sleep When I Walk]
    “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]

  • The Streets I Walk When I Sleep | A Poem About Dreams, Love, and Emotional Longing

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I didn’t invent the conversation in this poem.

    That’s what makes this piece feel different to me.

    Usually when I write about dreams, I’m translating emotions into imagery after the fact—trying to capture the atmosphere more than the exact details. But this time, I woke up and realized I could still remember almost everything I said.

    Not perfectly. Dreams never survive intact.

    But the emotional core of it stayed with me long after I woke up.

    The strange thing about recurring dreams is how they stop feeling fictional after a while.

    The streets become familiar. The air feels recognizable. The people inside them start feeling emotionally real in a way that’s difficult to explain to someone else without sounding a little unhinged.

    And that’s part of what this piece explores.

    The disconnect between physical reality and emotional reality.

    I know I’ve never walked through Manila in waking life. I know I’ve never stood face to face with her like that. But emotionally?

    Some part of me feels like I already have.

    That’s the part that’s difficult to articulate.

    Especially because the dream wasn’t dramatic. There was no cinematic confession in the rain. No grand climax.

    It was quiet. Warm. Awkward. Honest.

    And maybe that’s why it affected me so much.

    Because the dream version of me said the things the waking version still struggles to say out loud.

    Not in metaphors. Not hidden inside symbolism.

    Just plainly.

    And then, right before I heard the answer—

    I woke up.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure stands on a rain-soaked city street at night beneath warm lights in a dreamlike urban atmosphere.
    Some places live in the heart long before the body ever arrives there.

    The Streets I Walk When I Sleep
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I had a dream last night—

    it’s a line, I’ve written
    a thousand times—

    and I’ll write it
    a thousand times more.

    Because dreams
    don’t feel like things
    that happened
    in my sleep.

    They feel like memories.

    There are times
    I have to remind myself—

    I’ve never been to Tokyo,
    I’ve never walked the streets
    of Manila or Seoul.

    I can’t explain it,
    definitely can’t name it—
    why these connections
    feel so strong.

    Yet, they are the streets
    I walk when I sleep
    and that’s still the same,
    it’s never changed—

    since I was fourteen.

    I’ve just been to
    Manila more lately.

    I had a dream last night…

    It was her and I,
    standing eye to eye—
    and I said everything
    I’ve been too scared to say.

    “I love you,”
    my voice came out
    softer than expected.

    “I always knew,”
    I continued.

    “Since the moment
    something in me changed,
    and you didn’t demand it.
    It just happened.”

    I took her hands
    in mine.

    Sun was gone,
    but you could still feel the heat—
    but the real killer?

    The way the humidity clung,
    making this moment
    sticky sweet.

    “I’ve known
    since the moment I met you
    you were special.”
    I said, my voice near a whisper.

    I felt the way you tensed up.
    You’re not used to this either.

    “It took me six days
    to realize things had changed.
    I wrote that first poem,
    and in my chest, I knew—

    I found home.”

    I felt the tremor in your breath,
    head tilting back
    and we made eye contact.

    Your mouth opened,
    you were about to speak—

    then I woke up.

    Journey in the Hexverse…

    [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]

  • Separate Timelines | A Poem About Distance, Time Zones, and Unspoken Love

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I’ve always been fascinated by the strange emotional weight of time zones.

    How someone can become such a consistent part of your thoughts that you start measuring your own day against theirs.

    Checking the clock. Wondering if they’re asleep. Wondering what their sky looks like while you’re staring at yours.

    At some point, distance stops feeling geographical and starts feeling temporal.

    That feeling became the foundation for this piece.

    The airport in the dream felt symbolic almost immediately while writing it—a place built entirely around arrivals, departures, waiting, and crossing paths for brief moments before separating again.

    And in the middle of that emptiness, there’s this presence that feels familiar before it’s visible.

    I think that’s what emotional connection can feel like sometimes.

    Not certainty. Not possession. Not even clarity.

    Just recognition.

    This poem also came from the tension between wanting to speak honestly and being afraid of what honesty might change.

    Because vulnerability always carries risk.

    Sometimes the fear isn’t rejection itself— it’s the possibility of losing a connection that already means something to you.

    So the poem lives in that suspended space: between dream and waking, between silence and confession, between leaving and returning.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary person sits alone inside an empty airport terminal at night while distant runway lights glow outside.
    Some connections feel close even across separate timelines.

    Separate Timelines
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I had a dream last night—
    I sat alone in an empty airport.
    Not a soul. Not a sound.
    I was the only one around.

    It was just me
    as far as the eye could see.

    Yet, I heard the hum
    of jet engines still—

    Then there was
    the sound of movement,
    footsteps echoing in the distance.

    Eyes scanning—
    trying to locate the source.

    Slowly—

    I rise.

    Getting to my feet,
    I stumble
    trying to get myself steady.

    The footsteps grow clearer—

    slow, deliberate,
    like someone who already knew
    I’d be here.

    And in the stillness
    of this moment—

    silence folds in on itself,
    waiting for me
    to decide
    whether to run
    or stay.

    The footsteps stop.

    My breath catches,
    not from fear,
    but from the strange familiarity
    of a presence I can’t yet see.

    And my legs feel heavy—

    like they remember something
    my mind doesn’t.

    I can’t see you—
    but I feel your presence.

    It’s like you and I
    live on separate timelines,
    simultaneous
    but different—

    like we can only exist like this.

    Because—
    my day
    is your night,

    and your day
    is mine
    just the same.

    It might seem simple to some,
    might even sound a little dumb—

    to get caught up
    on things like that—

    but I’ve been stuck
    on her time
    since I put widget
    on my phone.

    Listen to me…

    there I go again,
    loose lips
    let truths slip—

    even when they’re
    better left unsaid.

    Not because I didn’t want to say it.

    I did.

    But I don’t know
    if the timing’s right,
    or how you feel—

    but I do know
    you’re worth the risk
    of my heart shattering,
    I just don’t know
    if I’m strong enough
    to handle a connection
    breaking.

    So I keep quiet—

    not because
    I don’t want to speak,
    but because
    I’m scared to.

    So I sink
    back into my seat—
    and I feel your presence fade.

    I don’t know if you left
    or if I’m awake—

    but I promise…

    I promise,
    I’ll be back.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [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]