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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: Poetry

  • Fine, Fire It Is | A Playful Metaphor Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes a metaphor refuses to behave.

    This piece started with ice, took a few unexpected detours through pop-culture references, and eventually decided that being “cold” was nowhere near the right description anyway.

    So I stopped fighting the metaphor and let the fire take over.

    Because sometimes the pen doesn’t freeze.

    It smolders.

    — Rowan Evans

    A poet writing with a smoking pen as melting ice gives way to flames and glowing embers.
    The metaphor started cold. The pen decided it had something hotter to say.

    Fine, Fire It Is
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ll drop a Frozen bar because I’m cold—
    Emma Frost—hold on—that reference doesn’t land,
    it’s not ice, her skin turns to diamonds, man.

    It wasn’t in reference to her skin—

    well, what was it then?

    Her cold ass personality, duh, that’s the reality—
    she’s not nice, she’s mean—a real Ice Queen.

    Could have gotten there faster
    with Iceman, Bobby Drake—

    Or better yet, I could have said—
    I’ll drop a Frozen bar, because I’m cold—
    like Frozone, where’s my super suit?

    Fine.
    We’ll skip ice.

    That’d be nice,
    right?

    Cool—
    no, wait—
    not cool.
    We said we’re done with that.

    Fine then,
    fire it is—

    I pen flames,
    draggin’ ink across the page
    like a dragon’s rage—
    scorchin’ margins,
    burnin’ through the lines
    like I’m tryin’ to cremate the rhyme.

    See?
    This is why I shouldn’t switch metaphors—
    I get carried away,
    turn a spark into a wildfire,
    turn a wildfire into a prophecy,
    turn a prophecy into a punchline.

    But whatever—
    heat fits better anyway.
    I’m not cold,
    I’m molten—
    I don’t freeze,
    I smolder.

    And if ice didn’t land,
    fire always will—
    because even when I’m calm,
    my pen still smokes
    from the last thing I wrote.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [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.

    [Welcome to the Hexverse]
    Step into the Hexverse—a poetic world where mythmaking, humor, rage, creativity, and confession collide, and darkness becomes something that can be reshaped into art.

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

  • Exhibit A (The Evidence) | Playful Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece is me doing what I do best: writing too fast, joking too much, and letting the pen cross whatever line happens to be in the way.

    It’s cocky. It’s playful. It knows exactly how ridiculous it is.

    So consider this less of a confession and more of an exhibit.

    The evidence is right there on the page.

    — Rowan Evans

    A handwritten poetry manuscript arranged like evidence beneath a spotlight with an “Exhibit A” card and scattered pages.
    Exhibit A: The evidence speaks for itself.

    Exhibit A (The Evidence)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I write so quick
    and joke a bit.
    I’m quick-witted—
    enough to roast a bitch.
    Down to earth,
    enough to toast a bitch.
    I’m on a roll,
    like butter is—
    spread thin
    across genres,
    but still
    the cadence hits—
    because that’s
    where the rhythm lives.

    You think I’m joking—

    but I really write like this,
    take this piece—
    it’s the evidence.
    Exhibit A on a list to—
    these other poets
    don’t exist to me.

    When I read their work—

    it’s straight Zs,
    it puts me to sleep.

    My mind is too quick,
    and I don’t know
    where the line is—
    I’m always crossing it.
    That’s what gets me
    in trouble, yeah—
    so I just double-down.

    I’m already in trouble,
    so why stop now?

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Welcome to the Hexverse]
    Step into the Hexverse—a poetic world where mythmaking, humor, rage, creativity, and confession collide, and darkness becomes something that can be reshaped into art.

    [Circle of Me]
    A reflective poem about sitting among the voices of memory, joy, pain, and fear—and realizing that some burdens are bigger than any one person.

    [High Tide]
    A short reflective poem about leaving, returning, and accepting the forces that pull us back—like the tide guided by the moon.

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

  • Why So Serious? | A Playful Pop Culture Poetry Piece by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some poems arrive with a grand idea behind them.

    This one arrived with a bunch of fictional characters, a handful of terrible puns, and apparently no intention of behaving itself.

    So, before you read too seriously into it, consider this your invitation to just have fun with it. It’s a little chaotic, a little nerdy, and very much written with a grin behind the pen.

    Welcome to the nonsense.

    — Rowan Evans

    A playful surreal illustration of a poet flying through a chaotic fantasy world filled with magical, superhero, and science-fiction imagery.
    Sometimes the hero’s journey is just an excuse to make terrible puns.

    Why So Serious?
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I must be Aladdin—
    because my Jasmine
    is so Jafar away.
    Three wishes from Genie
    trying to get to her,
    you say that’s a waste—
    but what Elsa am I to do?
    I am on the move,
    magic carpet ride—
    and I can’t let it go,
    I’m already Anna the way.
    I guess you can say
    this is my hero’s journey—
    head in the clouds,
    my feet not on the ground—
    I had a joke to put here,
    but it would Neverland—
    I hope I stay young forever,
    like Peter Pan…

    I’m a Skywalker, like Luke—
    I’m a Leia down the truth,
    I’m not a rapper, my pen is—
    the page is my booth.
    When I step in, glasses come off—
    Clark Kent is gone, it’s Superman to you.

    Journey into the Hexverse

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

  • Welcome to the Hexverse — A Poem About Poetry, Mythmaking, and Turning Darkness Into Art | Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Every poet eventually builds a world around their words.

    Sometimes it starts with a page, sometimes with a character, sometimes with a joke—and sometimes it grows into something much bigger than expected.

    So, consider this an introduction.

    Welcome to the Hexverse.

    — Rowan Evans

    A poet standing at the center of a surreal multiverse surrounded by glowing pages, ink, shadows, and magical imagery.
    Welcome to the Hexverse—where words become worlds, darkness becomes art, and the poet becomes the mythmaker.

    Welcome to the Hexverse
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Welcome to the Hexverse…

    where the poet is mythmaker,
    comedian and confessor,
    part-time Pokémon professor—
    cathedral keeper, secret weaver
    with words that’ll turn worlds to believers—
    multiverse shaper, multiform creator,
    poet in heart, rapper in mind,
    legend with pen, divine—

    see the poet light up the dark,
    they are the spark—the heart,
    turning darkness into art—
    translating rage from cage,
    put it on the page in bars—
    watch the poet bend the night,
    shape the fight, ignite—
    turning chaos into scripture,
    pain into a living picture—

    twist words to heal hurt,
    metaphors make you think first—
    the poet will pen a pail of water
    to quench thirst—
    but you can only lead the horse to it.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Louder Than the Rain]
    A short confessional poem about the overwhelming noise of anxious thoughts, the strange silence of feeling alone in a crowded room, and finding a way to translate pain into words.

    [Let Me Be Pacific]
    A lyrical poem about sitting beside the Pacific Ocean and discovering that an enormous body of water can become a bridge between distant hearts. Through ocean imagery, wordplay, and reflections on California and the Philippines, Let Me Be Pacific explores how love and poetry can cross even the greatest distances.

    [My Nightmare]
    A poem about the nightmare of loving someone across distance, seeing the world from different perspectives, and holding onto the hope that the cracks can still be repaired—and that someday two separate shores might become one.

    [Rose & Ruin]
    Two minimalist poems exploring the opposing forces within creativity: the thoughts we cultivate into something beautiful and the darker thoughts we transform before they have a chance to decay.

    [Conductor]
    A dark, intimate poem about the strange power words can have over the reader—where rhythm, rhyme, and line breaks become instruments capable of reaching beyond the page.

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

  • Conductor | A Poem About the Power of Words and Breath by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There are poems that ask you to listen.

    There are poems that ask you to feel.

    And then there are poems that quietly reach through the page and take hold of something you thought belonged entirely to you.

    Conductor comes from that space—the strange little boundary between writer and reader, where words stop being marks on a page and start becoming something physical.

    I wanted to play with that boundary.

    So take a breath before you begin.

    Then read.

    — Rowan Evans

    A mysterious conductor directs floating pages and strands of ink through a dark, empty concert hall.
    Some conductors lead an orchestra. Others conduct the breath between the lines.

    Conductor
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m a conductor—

    watch me
    control your breath.
    Won’t even
    be in the room—

    you just have
    to read the words
    that I’ve left—

    you can feel
    my influence
    in your chest—

    I confess—

    you breathe the way I tell you to,
    this is what I will do—I will extend the lines,
    implement some rhymes—show you,
    that your breath is not your own,
    it is mine to control—

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [The Crypt]
    A mysterious man watches from a crypt as a woman enters the graveyard and kneels before an unnamed grave. In this compact gothic poem, fascination, death, and possession blur together beneath the shadows of the cemetery.

    [Dreaming Wrong]
    A familiar dream becomes unsettling when the ocean becomes a pond, the tide disappears, the moon loses its reflection, and nothing feels quite like it belongs. Dreaming Wrong explores the uncanny feeling of finding yourself inside a dream that looks familiar—but feels like someone else’s.

    [Did You Really Think This Was About Trees?]
    A playful love poem disguised as a forest of terrible tree puns. Beneath the birch, oak, cedar, palms, lumber, and absurdist wordplay is a poem about devotion, loyalty, laughter, and building a life with someone you love.

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

  • No Stupid Questions — A Poem About Listening, Curiosity & Frustration

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes a poem doesn’t need to be profound.

    Sometimes it just needs to say, “Please fucking listen.”

    No Stupid Questions came from that particular kind of frustration—the kind that happens when someone asks something that has already been answered, interrupts the flow of a conversation, or throws a question into the room without stopping to consider whether the information they want is already sitting right in front of them.

    The old saying goes, “There are no stupid questions.”

    I don’t completely agree.

    Questions aren’t inherently stupid. Curiosity is valuable, and asking for clarification is often exactly what we should do. But there is a difference between genuinely wanting to understand something and simply asking whatever crosses your mind without listening to what was already said.

    This poem is intentionally blunt because the frustration is blunt.

    It’s conversational, a little sarcastic, and unapologetically irritated. There are times when I want my poetry to dress an idea in metaphor and symbolism. Other times, I just want to point at the problem and say exactly what I mean.

    No metaphor.

    No elaborate mythology.

    No moon, tide, raven, or rose to hide behind.

    Just:

    You already got your answer.

    Listen.

    — Rowan Evans

    P.S. – The end of this piece is entirely a joke.

    A writer at a desk surrounded by chaotic question marks while a clear answer sits untouched in an open notebook.

    No Stupid Questions
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    You know—

    the person that said,
    “there’s no such thing
    as a stupid question,”—

    probably asked a lot
    of stupid questions,
    just like you—

    Not trying to be rude
    or give attitude—

    but dude,
    you asked that question
    out of the blue.

    (And it was dumb,
    it was a stupid question…
    I had to break the flow to tell you,
    you asked a stupid question.)

    I already told you—

    I already answered back,
    if you need the information
    then listen—I already gave you that.

    Do you even think
    before you speak,
    or do you just
    let your thoughts fly?

    You don’t have to ask
    every question
    that comes to mind.

    I don’t care
    if you are a child.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [You Are Perfect]
    A gentle reminder that your worth isn’t determined by your flaws or by the opinions of others. You Are Perfect is a poem about resilience, self-acceptance, and standing tall even when the world tries to make you feel small.

    [Human Rorschach]
    Sometimes we’re less a fixed person than an inkblot—our meaning changing with every set of eyes that looks at us. Human Rorschach explores perception, identity, and the ways our own experiences shape what we believe we see in others.

    [A Rose in the Ashes]
    Lost within a forest where every leaf becomes a memory, the speaker follows darkness instead of fleeing from it, discovering that healing isn’t found at the end of the tunnel—but in facing the past long enough to notice a single rose blooming through the ashes.

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

  • Pull the Lever — Poetry, Hip-Hop, Cadence & the Music That Shaped Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I’ve written before about how much Hip-Hop shaped the way I write, but Pull the Lever is a little more personal about that history.

    I got into Hip-Hop young—around nine years old—and artists like DMX, Eminem, Ludacris, Mystikal, and 2Pac became part of the musical landscape I grew up in. I wasn’t trying to become a rapper; I was learning cadence. I was listening to how words moved, how syllables landed, how rhythm could turn language into something physical.

    That influence never really left.

    As I got older, though, my musical world expanded beyond American Hip-Hop. I started listening to music in other languages, and eventually Korean Hip-Hop became part of that landscape too. The final section of this poem deliberately crosses that bridge: Outsider, MC Sniper, and Drunken Tiger are Korean Hip-Hop references, following the line about me mentally crossing the sea.

    There’s something fitting about that progression. The kid who learned cadence from American Rap eventually became a writer whose relationship with rhythm stretched far beyond one language, one country, or one genre.

    I may write poetry, but the rapper’s mind is still wired into the pen.

    — Rowan Evans

    A notebook and pen surrounded by Hip-Hop imagery, transitioning from an American cityscape into a Korean night skyline, with subtle tiger and rhythmic sound motifs.
    From American Rap to Korean Hip-Hop, the rhythm stayed with me—the cadence simply crossed the sea.

    Pull the Lever
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Pull the lever to find out
    what the cow says—

    The cow says, “move bitch,
    get out the way”—
    like Ludacris and Mystikal,
    don’t piss me off,
    my shit gets mythical.

    I was nine,
    memorizing every line
    that DMX spit—
    like the Ruff Ryders Anthem,
    that was my shit.

    I learned the cadence from Em,
    so when I spit, I spit like Slim—
    not a rapper, just a writer
    with a rapper’s mind wired in.

    I got into Hip-Hop
    the same year
    we lost Pac—
    that was ’96,
    in case you forgot.

    And in my teens,
    I took my love for the game
    and mentally
    crossed the sea—

    I was an outsider,
    so I found the Outsider
    that spoke to me.

    And I studied religiously—
    until my lines hit
    with the precision of a Sniper.

    Hit the bars too hard,
    got my Tiger’s heart
    feeling like a Drunken master.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Slim & Shady Series]

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

  • Leave No Self Behind | A Poem About Healing, Memory & Self-Acceptance

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem grew out of a realization that getting “lost” isn’t always the same as losing yourself.

    I’ve written many pieces about dreams, memory, shifting landscapes, and wandering through places that seem to exist somewhere between reality and imagination. Over time, I realized those places weren’t asking me to escape who I was—they were asking me to revisit the parts of myself I had left behind.

    We often talk about “finding ourselves” as though there’s one true version waiting to be discovered. My experience has been almost the opposite. Every season of life leaves behind another version of us: the frightened one, the hopeful one, the grieving one, the joyful one. None of them disappear simply because we’ve grown older.

    Healing, at least for me, isn’t replacing those earlier selves.

    It’s learning to walk beside them without shame.

    This poem is an invitation to stop treating old versions of ourselves as mistakes to erase and instead see them as companions who helped us survive long enough to become who we are today.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure walking through a dreamlike hallway where each open doorway reveals a different landscape representing memories and past versions of the self.
    Healing isn’t finding one true self—it’s learning to walk beside every version of yourself with compassion.

    Leave No Self Behind
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I feel like I’ve lost myself again—
    don’t know when it began,
    but I get lost a lot.

    It doesn’t take much for me
    to get lost in thought—

    I wander off
    without meaning to,
    slipping between memories
    like loose floorboards.

    One thought opens a door,
    another pulls me down a hallway,
    and suddenly I’m somewhere
    I didn’t plan to be—

    with some version of me
    I didn’t plan to meet.

    Sometimes the hallway
    tilts into something else—

    a shoreline I’ve walked in sleep,
    a city humming with heat,
    a room I haven’t entered in years.

    The world shifts
    without warning,
    and I follow it
    the way I follow dreams—

    half-aware,
    half-afraid
    of what I’ll find
    in the scene change.

    I never know
    which version of me
    I’ll find in those places—

    the one who’s tired,
    the one who’s trying,
    the one who’s still carrying
    things I swore I let go.

    Sometimes I meet
    the versions of me
    I thought I’d outgrown—

    the one who flinches,
    the one who freezes,
    the one who still thinks
    they’re hard to love.

    And I walk with them
    for a while,
    through whatever memory
    the hallway decides to show—

    letting them speak,
    letting them breathe,
    letting them…

    exist.

    Without rushing them back
    into the dark.

    And maybe that’s
    what finding myself
    really looks like—

    not a single moment
    of clarity,
    not a sudden return,
    but walking through
    every hallway
    my mind opens,
    meeting every version
    I’ve ever been,
    and letting them stay
    long enough
    to feel seen.

    Maybe I’m not lost.

    Maybe I’m just learning
    how to carry
    all the selves
    I used to abandon
    when the world
    felt too loud.

    Maybe this time…

    I won’t leave anyone—

    behind.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Where the Metaphors Lead]
    Some truths are easier to write than they are to say aloud. “Where the Metaphors Lead” explores the quiet space between dreams, confession, and the courage it takes to let another person know how deeply they’ve become woven into your inner world.

    [Noon Is Loud]
    If four in the morning belongs to truth, then noon belongs to impossible memories. Noon Is Loud is a playful free verse poem filled with absurd boasts, pop culture references, and tongue-in-cheek mythology that explores how easily imagination can rewrite reality.

    [5:01 (Pull the Punchline Back)]
    What happens when a confessional poet instinctively hides every confession behind a joke? 5:01 (Pull the Punchline Back) explores humor as emotional armor, the speed of an overactive mind, and the difficult choice between making people laugh and letting them see what’s really there.

    [Chemical X]
    Chemical X explores the rapid, associative way one creative mind moves—from cartoons to sports, comic books to music—revealing that inspiration isn’t linear, but a collision of memory, humor, rhythm, and intuition.

    [Monster Theology]
    What if the monsters under the bed weren’t monsters at all? Monster Theology explores difference, belonging, and the human tendency to fear what we don’t understand through a conversation with the creatures we’ve spent our lives imagining.

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

  • Where the Metaphors Lead | A Confessional Poem About Love, Dreams & Finding Your Voice

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some poems begin with an idea. Others begin with a feeling that refuses to leave.

    This one was written in the early hours of the morning, during that familiar stretch of time when the world grows quiet enough for my thoughts to become louder than everything else.

    I’ve always found it easier to write than to speak. Conversations ask for immediate answers. Poetry allows me to sit with a feeling until I understand it well enough to translate it into language.

    Many of the recurring images throughout my recent work—the moon, the tide, distant shores, dreams, and city streets—have become a personal symbolic language. They aren’t separate subjects anymore. They all point toward the same emotional center.

    This poem finally acknowledges that.

    Sometimes the metaphors aren’t hiding anything.

    Sometimes they’re quietly leading us back to the truth we were trying not to say.

    — Rowan Evans

    A lone writer journaling by moonlight at four in the morning while the moon reflects across a calm ocean beyond the window.
    Some feelings only find their voice after midnight, where dreams, memory, and metaphor become impossible to tell apart.

    Where the Metaphors Lead
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    It’s funny how I find myself here again,
    four AM—it’s just me, the music and my pen.
    I’ve got so many thoughts with so much to say,
    my lips move but no sound comes—
    like I lost one voice, when I found the other.

    And it’s not that I can’t speak—

    it’s just that words don’t come easily,
    when they try to come verbally.

    But on the page,
    everything lines up—

    the thoughts, the feelings,
    the things I never say out loud.
    Ink doesn’t trip over itself
    the way my voice does.

    So here are a few
    truths for you—

    there is a woman
    she is on my mind constantly,
    yeah, she is simultaneously
    the easiest and hardest to talk to.

    She makes me feel like I can be me—
    completely.

    And honestly,
    I’ve never really had that
    with anybody else—

    every beautiful line I write
    about the moon in the sky,
    the ocean and tide—

    yeah, most of the time
    it leads back to her
    in my mind.

    And every dream, I translate in ink—
    the shores I walk in sleep,
    secrets I try not to keep,
    even when it’s hard to speak—

    I lay them on the page and pray
    that they’ll reach their destination one day.

    So I sit here,
    four AM again,
    writing the things
    I can’t say out loud—

    hoping one day
    I’ll find the courage
    to speak them aloud.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [The World Shifted Around Us]
    The world transformed around us—beach, city streets, jungle—but we never moved. Sometimes love isn’t found in words, but in the quiet certainty of someone remaining clear while everything else fades.

    [Every Night, The Same Flight]
    Every night begins with the same flight. Between wakefulness and sleep, an airport appears, a familiar shoreline waits beyond the journey, and the same dream asks whether some destinations find us before we’re ready to find them.

    [Where I Belonged]
    A bedroom becomes an airport in the space between sleep and waking. Where I Belonged explores liminal consciousness, uncertainty, and the strange moments when reality feels suspended between two worlds

    [Opposites Coasts of the Same Silence]
    What separates two people isn’t always an ocean. Sometimes it’s the silence between everything left unsaid. Opposite Coasts of the Same Silence explores longing, distance, dreams, and the quiet hope that even across impossible divides, someone might still hear your voice.

    [Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3)]
    A moonlit shoreline, a rowboat full of ducks, a piggybank with no cents, and a confession hidden in plain sight. Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3) explores how humor, wordplay, and absurdity can become a side door to vulnerability when the truth feels too difficult to say directly.

    [Call of the Tide]
    A poem about identity, displacement, and the quiet pull toward something beyond the shoreline you were born on. Sometimes the tide calls louder than the anthem.

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

  • Let Shuffle Steer | A Poem About Music, Emotion & Self-Discovery

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some people use shuffle as background noise.

    I use it as a compass.

    I’ve noticed over the years that when I stop trying to control what song comes next and simply let the algorithm decide, the music often mirrors something I was already feeling—or something I hadn’t admitted I was feeling yet.

    One song can pull me inward. Another can make me laugh. Another can unlock a memory I hadn’t thought about in years. It’s less about the songs themselves and more about how music has always been one of the languages my mind speaks most fluently.

    This poem isn’t really about playlists.

    It’s about trust.

    Trusting art to take me somewhere I didn’t expect to go, and accepting that sometimes the best way to understand myself is to stop choosing the destination and simply listen.

    — Rowan Evans

    A person wearing headphones sits beneath a night sky as glowing soundwaves wrap around them like a chrysalis, transforming into butterflies while surreal landscapes fade into one another.
    Sometimes the best guide isn’t a map—it’s the next song that shuffle decides you need.

    Let Shuffle Steer
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I sit—
    lost in my head again,
    letting the music hit.
    It carries me
    from one emotion
    to the next.
    Sometimes—
    I don’t know
    where it’ll take me.

    Shuffle’s got a mind of its own—

    and it’s like it knows
    what I need to hear,
    right when I need
    to hear it.

    It’s like—
    shuffle sees me,
    then shuffle reads me—

    oh, you want to get introspective?
    Here is a song—
    that’ll make you want to look inside.

    Oh, you need to get aggressive?
    Here is a song—
    that’ll make you want to go riot,
    take the pen and get violent.

    It’s like you need to cry,
    and take a walk down memory lane?
    Here is a song,
    and it’s fuel for that pain.

    I like to ride the soundwaves,
    I don’t fight it, I let the music hit—
    I can feel my whole persona shift
    with a change in beat.
    It’s like the music is
    a fast acting chrysalis—
    you see, the music wraps around me
    and I begin to change.
    It’s nothing strange—

    it’s just the way music affects me.

    It enters the bloodstream,
    my DNA rearranges—
    something fundamental changes.
    Not just the surface,
    but marrow deep.

    So I let shuffle steer—
    it knows the roads
    I don’t admit to.
    It makes me go
    where I’m meant to,
    even when I don’t see the map.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [A Heart That Echoes in Another Language]
    A poetic journey through music across Japan, Korea, China, and the Philippines, exploring how sound becomes identity, memory, and emotional geography.

    [Sound as a Vessel]
    “Sound as a Vessel” is a free verse poem about music as emotional architecture, exploring how international artists and soundscapes shaped identity, creativity, memory, and poetic voice.

    [The Music Holds Me Upright]
    A reflective free verse poem about using music, writing, and rhythm to navigate anxiety, depression, and emotional overwhelm.

    [Global Takeover]
    What if home isn’t a place—but something you build from the music you love? Global Takeover blends sound, culture, and identity into one borderless space.

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