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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: relationship anxiety

  • What I Want to Say – A Poem About Love, Fear, and Words Left Unspoken

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There are things that feel simple in your head… until you try to say them out loud.

    This piece comes from that moment right before a confession—when the words are clear, the meaning is obvious, but the weight behind them makes it harder to speak.

    Sometimes it’s not about not knowing what to say.

    It’s about knowing exactly what it means if you do.

    And not being sure you’re ready for what comes after.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person sitting in low light hesitating to speak, symbolizing unspoken emotions and vulnerability.
    Some words stay locked inside—not because we don’t feel them, but because we know what they could change.

    What I Want to Say
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I have so much
    that I want to say,
    but I don’t know how.

    For some reason—
    I always chicken out.

    I want to say
    1-4-3—decoded.
    But that’s too
    loaded.

    So I say it in
    actions instead,
    but the words stay hidden—
    locked in my head.

    I rehearse the lines
    a thousand times,
    but when the moment comes,
    I swallow them whole—

    afraid that saying them
    might change everything
    I’m scared to lose.

    But the fear pulls me away—
    I’m scared of becoming
    just another disappointment,
    another regret.

    [Not Her—The Echoes]
    A poem about learning the difference between someone who is safe—and the echoes of those who weren’t.

    [The Quiet Inside the Noise]
    What happens when a restless mind finally quiets—not by silence, but by focusing on one person? The Quiet Inside the Noise explores love, fixation, and finding calm in connection.

    [Right Behind My Eyes]
    A raw and introspective poem exploring dissociation, emotional distance, and the grounding power of love. Right Behind My Eyes captures the feeling of watching your life from afar–and what keeps you from disappearing completely.

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

  • Not Her—The Echoes | A Poem About Trauma, Trust, and Unlearning Fear

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There’s a difference between what’s happening now… and what your body remembers.

    Sometimes the hardest part of connection isn’t the other person–it’s everything that came before them.

    The learned reactions. The instinct to pull away. The quiet voice that says this will go wrong too, even when there’s no real evidence that it will.

    This piece comes from that space.

    From recognizing the difference between someone who is safe… and the echoes of people who weren’t.

    And from the understanding that healing isn’t just knowing the truth–

    it’s about teaching your instincts to believe it.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person surrounded by shadowy figures from the past while facing a calm glowing figure ahead, symbolizing trauma and trust
    Not every fear belongs to the present.

    Not Her—The Echoes
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I have a simple question
    I keep asking myself—
    why do you hide?

    When you want connection,
    why stay inside?

    You want to reach out,
    but you stay in your mind.

    Why?

    Well,
    the truth is—
    I hide to protect myself.

    It’s what I learned
    worked for me.

    When someone
    feels too close,
    I retreat.

    I used to open up,
    be vulnerable.
    I would share
    my internal world—

    then it was used
    against me.

    That’s tragic—
    but she didn’t do it.

    I know that.
    You think I don’t know that?

    I’m well aware
    she wasn’t the one.

    That’s what makes this so hard.

    I’m fighting habit,
    instinct—
    and I don’t say that
    to be dramatic.

    I’m not running from her.

    I’m running from echoes—
    old shadows wearing new faces,
    old wounds pretending
    to be present danger.

    I know she isn’t them.
    I know she isn’t the hands
    that taught me silence.

    But instinct doesn’t ask permission.

    It just pulls the alarm,
    slams the door,
    locks the ribs
    around the heart

    before I can say,
    “wait… this is different.”

    I’m not hiding from her.

    I’m hiding from the memory
    of being punished
    for being real.

    And unlearning that—
    is its own kind of bravery.

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