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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: Poetry About Identity

  • Who Do I Relate To in Fiction? | A Villain-Inspired Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I’ve always found it interesting who we relate to in fiction—and apparently, my answer is the villains.

    Not necessarily because I agree with everything they do, but because I recognize pieces of myself in their intensity, their flaws, their ambition, their pettiness, and sometimes even the way they try to make sense of the world.

    So this is me admitting that my fictional character roster might raise a few questions.

    Vader. Maul. Thawne. Light.

    Yeah.

    I know.

    — Rowan Evans

    A dark fictional-villain-inspired scene surrounding a solitary poet holding a glowing pen.
    Maybe the villains aren’t relatable because they’re right—maybe they’re relatable because they’re human.

    Who Do I Relate To in Fiction?
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I relate to the villains—
    Like Vader, who loved so hard
    he became a monster—
    sure he killed Padmé,
    but was that really
    little Ani’s fault?
    Because I blame Obi-Wan—
    you see, if Kenobi
    had not of gone—
    if he hadn’t have been
    on Mustafar,
    Padmé would still be here.

    And I relate with Maul,
    because he had it all—
    the flips, the tricks,
    the sweet lightsaber
    with twice the blade—
    but his overconfidence
    was his downfall.
    That’s why I keep mine in check,
    I’m not ready to split yet.

    I relate to Eobard Thawne.
    That’s the level of petty
    that I aspire to,
    because if I don’t like you—
    and I mean, really don’t like you,
    I make it my job
    to keep you feeling off.
    It’s nothing big,
    just little and inconvenient—
    until it’s not.
    (Sorry, Mrs. Allen.)

    I also relate to Light Yagami—
    because he likes to write,
    and I like to write too.
    We both write names in notebooks,
    try to shape fate with words—
    the difference is, where my ink
    sometimes heals—
    his only hurts.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [It Could Have Been…]
    A playful little love poem about strawberries, roses, and the wonderfully ridiculous ways romance can show up when you know someone doesn’t like the traditional version.

    [Exhibit A]
    A quick-witted, unapologetically playful poem about writing fast, crossing lines, roasting the competition, and letting rhythm do the talking.

    [Why So Serious?]
    A playful, chaotic poem packed with pop-culture references, superhero imagery, Disney characters, wordplay, and the kind of ridiculous puns that make the poet wonder why they were ever given a pen.

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

  • The Best to Ever Love You — A Neo-Gothic Confessional Love Poem by Non-Binary Trans-Femme Poet Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem was written in a moment of clarity — the kind where love, identity, and self-worth collide in a single breath. It’s not about perfection, but presence. Not about winning someone, but showing what it means to love with depth, honesty, and devotion. I wrote this piece as a reminder that being seen — truly seen — is one of the rarest gifts we can offer or receive.

    Neo-gothic portrait of a non-binary trans-femme figure bathed in rose-gold and shadow, symbolizing devotion, resilience, and queer identity.
    A neo-gothic portrait echoing the queer devotion and identity-centered vulnerability of “The Best to Ever Love You.”

    The Best to Ever Love You
    Poetry by Rowan Evans
    (Written April 29th, 2025)

    I won’t promise perfection.
    Perfection is a lie sold in glossy pages and curated silence.
    I will promise presence—
    a kind that stays
    when the light goes out,
    when the weight is too heavy to lift alone.
    I’ll be there with my back against the world
    and my heart wide open,
    offering everything I am,
    even the parts I’m still healing.

    I was not born into a name that fit.
    I was not handed a life where my reflection
    spoke kindly to me.
    I had to fight for every inch of authenticity—
    for this skin, this voice,
    this truth I now wear with defiant grace.
    So believe me when I say:
    I see you in a way most people never could.

    Because I, too,
    have been misjudged
    by eyes that didn’t know how to look deeper.

    But then—there was you.
    You, with your fierce softness.
    You, who never tried to fix me,
    because you never thought I was broken.

    You just existed,
    and the noise in my chest went quiet.
    Everything else faded.
    The world shrank to the sound of your laugh
    and the way your eyes carry whole lifetimes
    in every glance.

    You told me about him—
    the one who couldn’t see you.
    Who turned your love into labor
    and your light into shadow.
    Who made you feel
    like asking to be loved fully
    was some unforgivable burden.

    But he was the broken one.
    A coward dressed in borrowed confidence.
    A man so small,
    he couldn’t handle the vastness of you.

    He called you too much,
    but I see it for what it is—
    you are limitless.

    And if he couldn’t love you,
    it’s only because he mistook your strength for trouble,
    your silence for surrender.
    He didn’t deserve you
    on your worst days,
    let alone your best.

    He was never a man—
    just a placeholder.
    A whisper of what love could be
    if love lacked depth,
    vision,
    spine.

    And me?

    I never wanted to be a man.
    But somehow,
    I can still out-man him with my eyes closed.
    Isn’t that funny?
    To be non-binary, trans-femme,
    and still possess more loyalty,
    more protection,
    more honest devotion
    than someone raised with every societal advantage.

    I’d be embarrassed if I were him—
    to be eclipsed by someone
    who doesn’t even want his title,
    but can carry its responsibilities
    better than he ever tried to.

    And yet,
    I don’t want you to choose me
    just because I’m better than a ghost.

    I want you to see me—
    not as a compromise,
    not as a curiosity,
    but as the constellation
    your soul already recognizes.

    You once joked
    you “should’ve been a lesbian.”
    And I smiled,
    but inside I held my breath
    because I am sapphic,
    and for once,
    I felt like maybe—just maybe—
    the stars weren’t mocking me.

    You said you were open-minded.
    That you weren’t sure.
    That maybe there was something here,
    even if you couldn’t name it.

    And damn it,
    I held onto that like prayer.
    Not because I expect anything,
    but because hope has always been louder in me
    than doubt.

    Maybe you don’t see me that way.
    Maybe you never will.
    But you should know—

    I could love you better
    than every ex who left bruises
    instead of memories.
    I could hold you safer
    than all the hands that ever failed to catch you.
    I could be
    not just the best person to ever love you—
    but the first to truly see you
    and not flinch.

    So let them doubt.
    Let the world misgender me.
    Let him think he “won”
    because he had you first.

    I know the truth.

    You are worth becoming.
    And I have become
    a thousand versions of myself
    just to be ready
    if ever you say yes.

    More of my poetry can be found here: The Library of Ashes