personal struggle – Poetry by Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

This poem is not a cry for help — it’s a confession. It’s the truth about living in a body that feels too heavy, a heart that beats even when I’m too tired to hold it. For anyone who knows what it’s like to rise with no hope, no spark, just sheer stubborn survival — this one is for you. You’re not alone in the mornings that feel impossible. You’re not alone in the weight.

Ghostly figure with glowing heartbeat, representing emotional struggle and resilience, emerging from darkness. — *“Even when the body feels heavy and the heart refuses rest, the spirit rises — a ghost in its own skin.”*

Ghost in My Body
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I awoke,
empty of hope.
Chest tight, eyes wide—
the world felt
unbearably heavy.
I took a minute,
recalibrated.
I fix my face
into something readable,
something quiet—
because they’ll look
straight into my eyes,
and still ask,
“But… are you happy?”

I haven’t really been
since I was thirteen—
the year something in me
stopped blooming.
Yeah, it’s been
a lack of smiles,
since I
was thirteen.
The year the light in me
learned to dim itself.

It’s been a
constant struggle,
as I’ve struggled constantly.
I struggle to find
my place.
I struggle to recognize
my face.
Trust me, when I say
I struggle with everything.
Like, I don’t want to die,
but I—
don’t really want to be alive.
It’s a struggle
just to survive.

It’s a struggle just to survive,
carrying a body
that feels heavier
than I do.
Dragging a heartbeat
that won’t quit
even when I’m tired of holding it.

And yet—
every morning,
somehow,
I rise.
Not healed,
not whole,
just here.
Dragging the weight,
of a heartbeat
that refuses to stop
even when I want rest,
even when I want it to.

I’m just
a ghost still trying
to haunt its own body.

But still,
I pull myself upright—
not because I’m hopeful,
but because something in me
refuses to die quietly.
And maybe one day
the bloom returns,
the light rekindles—
but tonight,
I just breathe
and call it survival.

Looking for more poetry? You can find it all in the Library of Ashes.

A raw and confessional dive into the shadows of the self. I bare the weight of isolation, vulnerability, and creative exhaustion in this deeply personal poem.

Dimly lit room with ink-stained journal and scattered papers, evoking solitude and poetic struggle. — *“Pouring out the heart and soul, line by line—a broken poet in their gray world.”*

Don’t Bother, I’m Not Worth the Effort
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Don’t bother, I’m not worth the effort.
Just a shattered mirror, reflecting only discord,
my heart’s a maze, winding and dark,
A labyrinth of shadows, no end, no spark.

I’m a poet with a broken pen,
writing verses of a life that’s caged within,
words drip from my soul, heavy and slow,
but they’re tangled in thorns. No roses to show.

My mind’s a storm, chaotic and wild,
a tempest of doubts, like an unruly child—
to open up is to let you drown,
in an ocean of my thoughts, where I wear the crown.

I’m nothing special, just a mess of ink,
a faded page in a book you wouldn’t think
to read twice or even linger on.
A fleeting thought, then quickly gone.

I can’t promise sunshine or clear skies,
only cloudy days and heavy sighs.
The walls around me are high and steep,
guarding a heart that’s buried deep.

Don’t waste your time on a ghost of a girl,
who hides in the shadows, afraid of the world.
I’m a puzzle with pieces that don’t quite fit,
a story untold, not worth the wit.

My smiles are paper-thin, my laughter hollow,
a mask I wear, a tough act to follow.
But beneath the surface, the cracks show through,
a broken poet with nothing new.

So don’t bother, I’m not worth the time,
to try and understand my rhyme.
Just a fleeting breeze, a passing thought,
a tale half-told, best left forgot.

For those who venture close, I can only say,
the journey’s long, with little to repay.
So turn back now, find another road,
for this one’s fraught, with too much load.

I’m just a whisper in the wind,
a shadow you can’t quite pin… down,
pouring the ink from my pen now,
I scribble until the lines just bleed out.

Don’t bother, it’s not worth the pain,
to walk this path where there’s no gain.
So leave me here, in my world of gray,
where the colors fade and the lights don’t stay.

I’m just a broken poet, lost in their art,
not worth the effort to know or to chart.
Just a broken poet, bleeding out their heart,
not worth the effort to know….

Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: personal struggle

Ghost in My Body – Poem by Rowan Evans | Survival, Mental Health & Emotional Struggle

Don’t Bother, I’m Not Worth the Effort | Poetry by Rowan Evans