Author’s Note

Confessional, flustered, and honest—this poem captures the way love can unravel us, make our thoughts stumble, and leave us quietly devoted. Every word is a small truth, written in real time as emotions take over.

Flustered AF
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Listen—this is odd for me.
I don’t normally do this—
I’m not usually this vulnerable.

(What am I saying? Yes I am.
I’m a confessional poet;
all I do is vulnerability.)

But you’ve got me flustered.
You’re the static in my brain.
I can’t think, can’t speak,
until I hear you say my name.
Then the words just stumble out.

I don’t think you understand—
the kind of power you’ve got over me.
Wrapped around your finger?
Yeah, I am.
You say jump, I say how high—
You say kneel, and I don’t question why.
If you want me to bark? (Woof!)
I’ll become a dog for you.
I mean—I’ll be loyal to you.

(Did I just write a line about barking,
then say I would be a dog,
just to say how loyal I’d be?
Yep, sure did.)

I’d always be excited to see you.
And you could call me all sorts of names—
if you used the right tone of voice,
it wouldn’t matter what you were saying.
I’d still be happy to be there with you.

And I know, this is all kind of weird…
The line about barking, and being a dog,
just to set up a comment about loyalty—
but I can’t think straight,
because you’ve got me flustered beyond reason,
and the thoughts are just pouring out.
With no rhyme or reason,
it’s almost too conversational.

(Have I even used a metaphor yet?)

Inhale.
Exhale.
Breathe.

You’ve done this
a thousand times before, Rowan.
Why is this one so different?
This isn’t even the first time
you’ve written about love like this.
It’s not even the first time
you’ve written about loving her—like this.

There was…
I Love You—
Enough to Go Silent,
Enough to Break Willingly,
and Enough To Learn You.
Beautiful Little Cobra,
or My Red Flags,
and Perfect—For Me.

(That one’s about
how you’re perfectly imperfect,
but you’re perfect for me.)

The Prayer of Two Tongues,
and so many more—
I just haven’t had the chance to share.
Maybe it’s because I’m scared.
So I turned them into—
Letters Never Sent.

I mean… I want you to know how I feel,
but I don’t want to push you away.
I don’t want to lose what we have,
yet… I also want it to grow into more.

It’s safe to say,
I suspect you don’t feel the same,
and you probably never will.
(And that’s okay. Really.)

This is just me…
bleeding thoughts on a page.
And even as I write this to you,
I know you’ll probably never read it.
Not because you wouldn’t,
but because I’m too scared to send it.

(And it’s really long.
I know that can be overwhelming.
I tried to keep it in check,
but the words just kept coming.)

Inhale—
and now it’s quiet again.
The static fades.
Exhale—
your name still hums behind my ribs.
I tell myself that’s enough.
For now, it has to be.

So I don’t send it.
But I mean every word.

If you enjoyed this piece, you might also enjoy my other poems about being flustered…

[Rewired (Flustered & Yours)]
A raw, breathless confession about what happens when someone gets so deep under your skin that even your lungs forget how to work. A poem about fluster, desire, and the kind of connection that rewires you from the inside out.