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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: neurodivergent voices

  • Back to Darkseid — A Poem About Chaos, Identity, and the Mind

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem started as play.

    I wasn’t trying to be deep or careful — I was letting my brain sprint, letting pop culture, mythology, and intrusive thoughts collide on the page. Comics, villains, alter egos, masks — all the familiar metaphors we use when our minds feel too loud to live in quietly.

    What surprised me wasn’t the darkness, but the balance. This isn’t a descent — it’s a return with awareness. Standing in the light doesn’t mean pretending the shadows don’t exist. It means no longer fearing them.

    This is what it feels like when poetry stops being a tool and starts being a force — when the ink takes over, and you let it.

    Surreal illustration of a figure in shadow with ink tendrils rising up their spine, symbolizing chaos, identity, and creative obsession.
    Where chaos, identity, and ink collide.

    Back to Darkseid
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I walk in,
    ready to rock
    like a shock
    to the system.

    Watch me
    ghost ride the whip,
    hit you with the
    penance stare.

    Watch as you become
    hyper aware
    of every misdeed,
    and every sin seeps
    into the veins.

    It circulates
    until it hits
    the brain.

    Lights out.

    Silence.

    My noggin’s
    an asylum,
    I’m sick in the head.
    Coin flip of fate,
    I’m two-faced
    with my joker’s thoughts.

    I’m a dark knight,
    on a dark night—
    fighting the monsters
    that my mind creates.

    Don’t try to figure me out.
    I’m an enigma, a riddle
    with no answer.

    A twisted harlequin
    in a garden
    made by Ivy.
    Each petal unfurls,
    guiding—
    leading me back
    from the edge.

    Now I’m standing in the light,
    back to Darkseid—
    I no longer fear
    Apocalypse.

    Watch my ink
    twist into tendrils.
    Watch as they
    wrap around,
    and creep up
    my spine like venom.
    Watch as poetry
    slowly,
    takes over
    my mind.

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

  • Pluto Farmer: A Whimsical Poem About Being a Misfit

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Pluto Farmer is a playful meditation on otherness, absurdity, and the quiet rebellion of refusing to contort yourself into someone else’s idea of “normal.”
    Sometimes resistance looks like fire and teeth.
    Sometimes it looks like space carrots, judgmental space chickens, and cultivating joy on a planet no one else bothered to visit.

    This poem is for the weirdos, the outcasts, the artists, and anyone who has ever been told—explicitly or otherwise—that they don’t belong.
    If “normal” is a box, I’m farming on Pluto.

    Illustration of a whimsical farmer on Pluto surrounded by space animals, glowing vegetables, and surreal cosmic elements, representing absurdity and embracing being a misfit.
    Cultivating joy where “normal” doesn’t apply. 🪐

    Pluto Farmer
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m the twisted
    insane misfit.
    Outcast. Exile.
    Certified weirdo.

    The farmer
    with a ranch on Pluto.
    Two camels in a parked car,
    elephants in jam jars—

    gravity folded in coat pockets,
    constellations mislabeled,
    common sense left on read—

    and somehow
    I’m the problem
    for not fitting neatly
    into their tiny little box
    called “normal.”

    So I—
    just spend
    my time,
    cultivating—
    space carrots,
    raising space cows,
    milking starlight,
    counting moons like loose change,
    gathering space eggs
    from suspiciously judgmental
    space chickens.

    “Oh my god, you’re wearing that? Ew, what the—b-GAWK?!”

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