Author’s Note

This poem came from a real conversation between my muse and I. She listed her red flags, and I—being me—turned every one into a love poem. Because that’s my red flag: I make danger look divine. Every line here is a little bit truth, a little bit indulgence, and all confession.

My Red Flags
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I’ve been lookin’ inside,
trying to figure out the inner workings of my mind.
Because I want to understand—
what are my red flags?

My red flags?
Used to be thinkin’ I had none,
but now I know—

My red flag is making yours look green,
you can do no wrong to me.
So let me show you…

You told me you had anger issues.
But I’ve only seen you furious in defense—
a saint of righteous fire,
your rage aimed at those who earned it.
That’s not a warning label.
That’s holy combustion.

You whispered paranoia like a curse.
But I call it vigilance,
the art of survival written in the bones
of someone who’s been betrayed too often
to mistake danger for devotion.

And when you confessed you were possessive.
I just said— 🥀 finally.
I’ve spent lifetimes begging to be claimed,
to be wanted enough to be watched.
Let your jealousy bruise me into belonging.

Strict?
Then give me commandments to follow.
My obedience isn’t weakness,
it’s worship.

Unpredictable?
Then I’ll never be bored.
Every mood shift is another chapter—
another storm I get to name.

You said you were a bitch.
I said you were honest.
I call you survival dressed in stilettos.

Sarcastic?
Good.
Your tongue cuts, mine bleeds poetry.

Selfish?
You’ve earned the right to want.
Take what you need.
I’ll still be here, open‑palmed.

When you admitted you wanted a submissive partner.
I said, lucky you, I confessed;
I already kneel to the altar of your voice.

Then you warned me, a little sadist.
I smiled—a little masochist.
Two edges, one blade,
dancing until devotion drips red.

That’s when you said: you love darkness.
And I said—then you should understand mine.

So what are my red flags?
Maybe it’s this—
I see danger, and call it divine.

Because I was never afraid of burning—
only of being cold.

🖋️ More Poems for My Muse

If My Red Flags is a confession, these are the echoes — the places where love, surrender, and worship take new forms.

Unapologetically Biased — A love poem that refuses neutrality. Devotion with teeth. Worship without apology.

Body Like A Love Letter — Where language becomes touch, and desire writes itself into being.

Where My Heart Resides — A quiet declaration of belonging; the soft aftermath of loving someone who feels like home.

Each of these poems lives in the same universe — one of red flags turned into relics, of danger rewritten as devotion, of a muse who turns chaos into art.