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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: red flags

  • Green Flags in Disguise | Neo-Gothic Confessional Poetry on Love & Devotion

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some love is written in whispers, some in roars. Some love challenges you, confounds you, makes you question everything you thought you knew about desire, trust, and devotion. This piece is for that kind of love—the kind that doesn’t ask for perfection, but for honesty. The kind that turns what the world sees as flaws into the most beautiful invitations, the most sacred of green lights.

    It’s about seeing someone fully, leaning in when others might run, and finding that the very things that could push you away are the things you are drawn to most. These are the red flags that are secretly green, the chaos that feels like home, the complexity that makes your heart stretch wide enough to hold another soul.

    Read it as confession. Read it as celebration. Read it as a permission slip for intimacy, wildness, and trust.

    Intimate scene of lovers embracing in dim candlelight, shadows casting a moody and romantic glow.
    The green flags hidden within the chaos—intimacy, trust, and love in their rawest forms.

    Green Flags in Disguise
    Poetry by Rowan Evans
    (Written April 29th, 2025)

    You laid your cards down one by one—
    Red flags, you called them.
    Warnings.
    Not to scare me off,
    just to see if I’d run.
    I didn’t. I leaned in.

    “Anger issues?”
    You’ve been gaslit, babe—
    called volatile for daring to feel
    in a world that only makes room
    for men to explode.
    But your rage? It’s sacred fire.
    I’d build temples in the ashes.
    That’s not a flaw. That’s clarity.
    Every time you cursed “idiot,”
    my heart stuttered with how right it felt.
    Why is this so attractive?
    Call me weird—
    But everything you thought made you unlovable
    is exactly what I love.

    “Paranoia?”
    Please. I get it.
    You’ve been betrayed by the hands that held you.
    I’ve lived the same kind of quiet, twitching dread.
    So if you need to ask questions twice, or ten times—
    ask.
    I won’t judge.
    I’ll just stay.

    “Possessive?”
    Yes, please.
    Own me.
    Call me yours with your whole chest.
    Claim every piece of me with teeth and intent.
    I won’t run—I’ll beg for more.
    Mark me. Mold me.
    Make me forget who I was
    before I belonged to you.

    “Jealous?”
    God, it’s hot.
    Not the petty kind, not the toxic kind—
    The kind that says you matter to me so much it scares me.
    I wouldn’t ever give you a reason to doubt.
    But if I slipped up…
    I’d want to be punished.
    Yes, I’m that kind of submissive.

    “Strict?”
    Say less.
    Tell me what to do.
    Correct me when I misstep.
    Guide me with that edge in your voice—
    the one that makes my knees forget how to be knees.
    I was made for this.
    For you.

    “Unpredictable?”
    That’s not a red flag.
    That’s spontaneity.
    That’s adventure.
    That’s yes, let’s burn the script and make our own.
    You bring the chaos—I’ll bring the trust.

    “A bitch at times?”
    Be one more.
    Be unapologetic.
    Be brutal when it calls for it.
    The world tried to tame you.
    Let me be the one who tells you not to flinch.
    Your sharpness is beautiful.
    Cut me, and I’ll bleed loyalty.

    “Sarcastic?”
    Perfect.
    Fluent in sarcasm.
    It’s our dialect now.
    Trade jabs with me until it turns to kisses.
    Be wicked with your words—I’ll turn them into poems.

    “A little selfish?”
    Good. Be selfish.
    Take what you want.
    You deserve that, and more.
    You deserve someone who doesn’t flinch when you demand,
    someone who smiles when you dominate.

    You want a submissive partner?
    I’m kneeling already.
    You just didn’t notice.
    Every “yes, ma’am,”
    every “tell me what you need”—
    That was me offering myself on a velvet platter.
    And I’ll keep offering,
    if you’ll keep taking.

    “A little sadist?”
    Your nails, your teeth, your whispered sins—
    I crave them.
    I want your bite to outlast the bruises.
    I want your darkness to stretch its limbs across me
    until I can’t tell where I end and you begin.

    “Loves darkness?”
    Darling.
    I was born in it, too.
    We don’t have to be afraid of each other’s shadows.
    We light them.

    So no.
    I don’t see red.
    I see you.

    And maybe I’m colorblind—
    maybe I’ve got protanomaly, babe—
    because all I see is green.
    Green like go.
    Green like yes.
    Green like marry me.
    Yeah, I said it.

    I know you’ll probably get smug,
    or tease me,
    or roast the hell out of me for this—
    but I’m ready.

    Test me again.
    I’ll pass.
    Every time.

    Suggested Reads

    [My Red Flags] — A Dark Romance Poem About Loving the Dangerous
    “You told me you had anger issues. But I’ve only seen you furious in defense—a saint of righteous fire.”

    ‘My Red Flags’ is a confession disguised as a love spell. In this dark romantic poem, Rowan Evans turns every warning sign into worship—an ode to danger, devotion, and the art of loving without fear of burning.

    If you would like to check out more of my work, you can find it here in the archives: The Library of Ashes

  • My Red Flags | A Dark Romantic Poem About Loving the Dangerous

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem came from a real conversation between my muse and I. She listed her red flags, and I—being me—turned every one into a love poem. Because that’s my red flag: I make danger look divine. Every line here is a little bit truth, a little bit indulgence, and all confession.

    “Two lovers in a candlelit gothic room surrounded by crimson petals, symbolizing dangerous love and devotion.”
    ‘My Red Flags’ explores how love can sanctify even our most dangerous edges.

    My Red Flags
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ve been lookin’ inside,
    trying to figure out the inner workings of my mind.
    Because I want to understand—
    what are my red flags?

    My red flags?
    Used to be thinkin’ I had none,
    but now I know—

    My red flag is making yours look green,
    you can do no wrong to me.
    So let me show you…

    You told me you had anger issues.
    But I’ve only seen you furious in defense—
    a saint of righteous fire,
    your rage aimed at those who earned it.
    That’s not a warning label.
    That’s holy combustion.

    You whispered paranoia like a curse.
    But I call it vigilance,
    the art of survival written in the bones
    of someone who’s been betrayed too often
    to mistake danger for devotion.

    And when you confessed you were possessive.
    I just said— 🥀 finally.
    I’ve spent lifetimes begging to be claimed,
    to be wanted enough to be watched.
    Let your jealousy bruise me into belonging.

    Strict?
    Then give me commandments to follow.
    My obedience isn’t weakness,
    it’s worship.

    Unpredictable?
    Then I’ll never be bored.
    Every mood shift is another chapter—
    another storm I get to name.

    You said you were a bitch.
    I said you were honest.
    I call you survival dressed in stilettos.

    Sarcastic?
    Good.
    Your tongue cuts, mine bleeds poetry.

    Selfish?
    You’ve earned the right to want.
    Take what you need.
    I’ll still be here, open‑palmed.

    When you admitted you wanted a submissive partner.
    I said, lucky you, I confessed;
    I already kneel to the altar of your voice.

    Then you warned me, a little sadist.
    I smiled—a little masochist.
    Two edges, one blade,
    dancing until devotion drips red.

    That’s when you said: you love darkness.
    And I said—then you should understand mine.

    So what are my red flags?
    Maybe it’s this—
    I see danger, and call it divine.

    Because I was never afraid of burning—
    only of being cold.

    🖋️ More Poems for My Muse

    If My Red Flags is a confession, these are the echoes — the places where love, surrender, and worship take new forms.

    Unapologetically Biased — A love poem that refuses neutrality. Devotion with teeth. Worship without apology.

    Body Like A Love Letter — Where language becomes touch, and desire writes itself into being.

    Where My Heart Resides — A quiet declaration of belonging; the soft aftermath of loving someone who feels like home.

    Each of these poems lives in the same universe — one of red flags turned into relics, of danger rewritten as devotion, of a muse who turns chaos into art.