Tag: personal identity

  • Author’s Note

    There’s a kind of disconnection that goes beyond mood or circumstance.

    It’s not just about having a bad day, or feeling out of place for a moment. It’s deeper than that—like something fundamental doesn’t line up. Like the life you’re living doesn’t match the shape of who you are.

    For a long time, I tried to understand that feeling as something internal. Something to fix, adjust, or push through.

    But this piece comes from questioning that.

    From considering that maybe the discomfort isn’t a flaw—
    maybe it’s misalignment.

    Maybe it’s the result of existing in a space that doesn’t reflect you, doesn’t hear you, doesn’t hold the parts of you that matter.

    And maybe the answer isn’t to force yourself to fit—
    but to find where you already do.

    Rowan Evans


    Person sitting alone at the edge of a bed at dawn symbolizing feeling out of place and disconnected.
    Sometimes it’s not that you’re lost—it’s that you woke up in a life that was never meant for you.

    The Wrong Side of the Globe
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I wake up—
    not just on
    the wrong side
    of the bed.

    I wake up
    on the wrong
    side of the globe—

    in a life
    that doesn’t fit
    the shape of me

    I wake up
    in a timezone
    my body refuses,
    in a climate
    my skin protests,
    in a country
    my soul didn’t choose.

    I wake up
    as the wrong version
    of myself,
    a silhouette
    in someone else’s dawn,
    a life misaligned
    with its own pulse—

    speaking a language
    this place won’t hear,
    carrying histories
    this soil won’t hold,
    belonging to a map
    not on the wall.

    I wake up…

    in a morning
    meant for someone else.

    In a season
    I wasn’t built for.

    In a story
    I don’t remember choosing.

    I wake up
    already tired
    from carrying a life
    that was never mine…

    I wake up
    wanting a world
    that fits my outline—

    a morning
    that knows my name.

    So I drift off—
    falling into sleep,
    praying that I…

    wake up
    to a place
    that feels like mine,

    a life
    that finally fits—

    the shape of me.


    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [Where the Tide Calls Me]
    What if feeling stuck isn’t about being lost—but about resisting where you’re meant to go? Where the Tide Calls Me explores belonging, movement, and the courage to follow an unseen pull.

    [I Was Already On My Way]
    What if the places that call to you aren’t random? I Was Already On My Way explores identity, travel, and the realization that some paths have been forming long before we recognize them.

    [Of No Single Nation]
    What if belonging isn’t tied to where you’re from? Of No Single Nation explores identity beyond borders, reframing home as something found in connection rather than geography.

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

  • Author’s Note

    People often decide who you are before you have the chance to speak. They carve a version of you that makes them comfortable, then hold it up like a mirror and expect you to recognize your own face.

    This poem is about rejecting that reflection and reclaiming the right to define myself.

    Rowan Evans


    Androgynous person standing before a cracked mirror with fragmented reflections symbolizing identity and self-definition.
    Sometimes the reflection others give you isn’t really yours. This poem is about reclaiming the right to define yourself.

    Wearing My Name
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    They say I’m just like them,
    but I’m not like them—
    swear I’m nothing like them.
    They say I protest too much,
    a double-edged sword, I guess.
    Can’t stand up, can’t sit down—
    can’t speak up, can’t make a sound.

    They carve a version of me
    that fits their comfort,
    then hand it back
    like a mirror.
    But it’s not my face—
    just their fear
    wearing my name.

    They say I’m just like men,
    but I’m not like them.
    So I distance myself
    from who I used to be.
    Now I’ll tell you
    how I see myself,
    truthfully.

    I’m not the man they imagine,
    not the echo they expect.
    I’m the version I built
    after breaking the mold
    they tried to fit me in.

    I’m not a man,
    not a woman,
    something in between,
    King nor Queen—
    I’m still royalty.
    Master of emotion,
    deity of poetry.
    A precious soul
    trying to keep hold
    of my humanity.

    Adorable, yeah—I’m cute,
    and I know you know it too.
    It’s okay.
    You don’t have to say
    a thing.

    Of course you’re looking.
    Why wouldn’t you?


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