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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: relationship poetry

  • Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3) | A Love Poem About Humor, Vulnerability & Hidden Confessions

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem began as a collection of bad jokes.

    Or at least that was the excuse.

    Sometimes I start writing with no destination in mind. A phrase appears. Then a pun. Then another. A moon becomes a metaphor. Ducks end up in a rowboat. A piggybank loses all its cents.

    And somewhere in the middle of all that nonsense, something honest sneaks in.

    I’ve noticed that humor often works like a side door.

    There are things I can say directly. There are things I can say through poetry. And then there are things that feel easier to approach sideways, hidden beneath wordplay, jokes, and absurd little detours.

    This piece lives in that space.

    The speaker keeps drifting away from the point, circling it rather than naming it. Every joke becomes a delay tactic. Every pun buys another moment before the truth has to be spoken aloud.

    Because sometimes vulnerability isn’t difficult because you don’t know what you feel.

    Sometimes it’s difficult because you know exactly what you feel.

    And saying it out loud makes it real.

    The title’s parenthetical reference, “1, 4, 3,” comes from an old numerical shorthand for a phrase many people know by heart. I liked the idea of building an entire poem around avoiding a confession, only to hide it in plain sight.

    In the end, the poem says exactly what it means.

    It just takes the scenic route to get there.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure stands on a moonlit beach beside gentle ocean waves while silver moonlight reflects across the water beneath a glowing night sky.
    Sometimes the longest journey to the truth is the scenic route—through moonlight, wordplay, ocean waves, and all the jokes we tell before we finally say what we mean.

    Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I stand on the shore
    giving ocean waves—
    begging the tide
    to take me away.

    I trace the moon
    across the sky,
    I map it in rhyme.
    Line after—
    silver-lined metaphor.

    I got my ducks in a row
    boat—is that what the paddles for?
    I know the direction,
    what would I panic for?

    You might be confused—
    I know that made no sense,
    like an empty piggybank.
    No cents, thoughts scattered
    like loose change.

    I use jokes
    to mask the truth sometimes.

    It makes what I want to say,
    an easier pill to swallow—

    1 letter
    followed by 4
    then 3—

    Together, they mean
    you mean the most to me.
    By your side—

    is where I’m supposed to be.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [1-4-3]
    A poem about love that isn’t rooted in need, but in choice. About finding safety not as a cage, but as a place where fear finally stops running—and stays.

    [1-4-3 (Tongue Tied)]
    A vulnerable poem about holding back the words that matter most. 1-4-3 (Tongue Tied) explores fear, emotional suppression, and the quiet ache of wanting to say “I love you.”

    [What I Want to Say]
    Sometimes the hardest words to say are the simplest ones. What I Want to Say explores love, hesitation, and the fear of what might change if you finally speak.

    [No Parachute]
    A poetic reflection on falling in love without hesitation—raw, uncertain, and without a safety net.

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

  • Just Knowing You Has Been Enough | A Poem About Fear, Love, and Emotional Connection

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some feelings become difficult to carry once they stop being hypothetical.

    You rehearse the words in your head, hide them in poems, disguise them as metaphors, bury them in “what ifs” and dream sequences—because saying them plainly makes them real.

    This piece came from that space between silence and confession.

    The strange place where fear and honesty start sounding alike.

    Not fear of loving someone.

    Fear of changing something that already matters deeply to you.

    Because sometimes the connection itself becomes so important that risking it feels terrifying.

    And sometimes love isn’t about perfection at all.

    Sometimes it’s just about seeing someone clearly—and caring anyway.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary person sits beside a softly lit window at night holding an open notebook in a quiet reflective atmosphere.
    Some truths stay hidden in poems long before they’re ever spoken aloud.

    Just Knowing You Has Been Enough
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I went quiet,
    but you never left my mind.

    I was silent—
    I had a lot to say,
    just didn’t know how to say it.

    I was afraid.
    Scared out of my mind.

    Everything I could have said,
    it didn’t feel right.
    It felt too heavy—
    too hard to carry.

    I had to set it down
    for a while.

    I had to sit with it,
    the words only spoken
    in my dreams.

    Dreams where,
    you never have the chance
    to respond.

    It feels wrong.

    But I wouldn’t want to
    speak for you.

    It’s been this way
    for a while now.

    I get too in my head,
    too hung up on
    what I have said—

    and what I want to say.

    They aren’t always
    the same.

    I’ve dropped hints
    in coded lines,
    wrote the words plain
    in poems about dreams—
    knowing they’d get overlooked.

    They’re not serious.

    But know this,
    the words written here
    are me being honest:

    I’m scared.
    I’m terrified,
    it’s true—
    but I really do
    love you.

    There’s no other way
    to say it.

    Because what is love—
    if not bias?

    And I am biased.

    Now what’s bias,
    if not seeing perfection
    where there is none?

    Because I know you’re not perfect—
    I’ve seen the cracks.
    I’ve listened to your stories,
    heard the lore—

    but here’s the thing,
    it’s not about perfection
    or lack thereof—
    it never has been.

    It’s about connection.

    It always has been.
    That’s all I’ve ever wanted,
    whatever shape that takes—
    I can be happy.

    Just knowing you
    has been enough.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [The Streets I Sleep When I Walk]
    “The Streets I Walk When I Sleep” is a deeply intimate free verse poem about recurring dreams, emotional connection, longing across distance, and the strange feeling of remembering places and moments that have never happened in waking life.

    [Memories From a Life Yet to Come]
    Some dreams feel less like fantasy and more like memory. “Memories From a Life Yet to Come” is a reflective free verse poem about longing, displacement, emotional alignment, and the strange comfort of recognizing yourself more clearly in dreams than in waking life

    [Separate Timelines]
    “Separate Timelines” is a surreal and deeply introspective free verse poem about emotional distance, time zones, vulnerability, and the fear of losing a connection that already feels meaningful before the words are ever spoken aloud.

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

  • None of It Means a Thing – A Poem About Love, Purpose, and Redefining Success

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There’s a version of success that looks good from the outside.

    Recognition. Stability. Achievement.

    But none of it really answers a simpler question:

    Who is it for?

    This piece comes from realizing that the things we’re told to chase don’t always mean as much as we think they will—especially if there’s no one there to share them with.

    It’s not about rejecting success.

    It’s about redefining what makes it matter.

    — Rowan Evans

    Cozy home interior with two chairs by a window, representing companionship and shared life.
    Success means little if there’s no one there to share it with.

    None of It Means a Thing
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    This is me confessing—
    I don’t want success
    to bless me
    unless it’s you
    there with me.

    I don’t need
    a sea of fans
    screaming my name—
    I’m not
    chasing fame.

    I don’t need
    pockets lined with gold.
    I need just enough
    to make our lives easier—
    and I mean it.

    Because I’m trying
    to build a life
    that can sustain—
    I want to thrive,
    not just survive.

    I want to build
    a home.

    But none of it
    means a thing
    if there’s no one
    there to share it.

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

  • Unshaken Ground – A Poem About Steady Love and Lasting Devotion

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Unshaken Ground was written during a season of reflection about what love truly means. So often we’re taught that love is sudden, dramatic, or overwhelming – but the kind of love I believe in is built slowly and intentionally. Like a house with a strong foundation, it requires patience, car, and the willingness to lay each stone deliberately.

    This poem explores the idea that real devotion isn’t fragile or fleeting. It’s steady. It grows through distance, through time, through trust carefully built piece by piece. The speaker offers not grand promises made in haste, but a quiet vow: to build something strong enough to last.

    At its heart, Unshaken Ground is about creating a safe space for another person’s heart – a love that stands firm no matter how long the journey takes.

    — Rowan Evans

    Stone foundation overlooking the ocean at sunset symbolizing steadfast love and a strong emotional foundation
    Love worth keeping is not built in a moment—it is laid stone by stone, steady and unshaken.

    Unshaken Ground
    Poetry by Rowan Evans
    (written February 20th, 2025)

    I do not build on sand, fleeting and weak,
    where waves of doubt erode what we seek.
    No, my muse, I carve each stone with care,
    laying them firm, piece by piece, laid bare.

    This foundation is not rushed nor undone,
    it’s tempered in patience, beneath the same sun.
    Brick by brick, trust will rise,
    a home for your heart behind steadfast eyes.

    The distance may stretch like an endless sea,
    but my words are the bridges from you to me.
    Each vow I craft, a pillar strong,
    to hold you safe where you belong.

    You are worthy of towers kissed by gold,
    of walls that shelter from nights so cold.
    Not a castle of glass, fragile and thin,
    but a fortress where love will not cave in.

    I will weave my devotion like roots in the earth,
    steady and deep, proving your worth.
    No fleeting storm can wash me away,
    I am here, my muse, I will always stay.

    And one day, no oceans to stand in our way,
    I’ll cross them all—just to say, I stayed.
    Not just in words, but in presence and touch,
    to give you the love you’ve deserved so much.

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

  • I Don’t Need You – A Poem About Chosen Love and Independence

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    To the reader:

    This poem is a meditation on choice, autonomy, and intimacy. It’s about standing whole, unshaken, and still choosing to love someone—not because we need them, but because we want them. The lines explore that delicate balance between independence and desire, between survival and longing.

    It is a celebration of being complete in oneself while recognizing that closeness, when chosen freely, amplifies life rather than diminishes it.
    This piece is for anyone who has ever loved fiercely while remaining unbroken.

    — Rowan Evans

    “Silhouetted figure in twilight holding a glowing thread toward a distant figure, representing choice, independence, and intimate connection.”
    ‘I Don’t Need You’ – Choosing love from strength, not need. A poem by Rowan Evans.

    I Don’t Need You
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I don’t need you.
    I can breathe on my own—
    lungs have done it for decades
    without asking permission.

    I don’t need you.
    I can sleep alone,
    learn the shape of empty sheets,
    make peace with the cold side of the bed.

    I don’t need you
    to make me whole.
    I arrived here intact—
    scarred, yes,
    but assembled by my own hands.

    I don’t need your voice
    to steady me,
    your name
    to keep the dark from biting.
    I’ve survived worse silences
    than your absence.

    I don’t need you
    to save me.
    I am not drowning.
    I am not broken.
    I am not waiting
    to be rescued.

    But—

    I don’t want to breathe
    without you knowing the rhythm of it.
    I don’t want sleep
    that doesn’t reach for you
    out of habit, out of hope.

    I don’t want a life
    where your laughter
    isn’t stitched into my days,
    where love is only something
    I prove I can live without.

    I can.
    I know that.

    But I don’t want to.

    I want you—
    not as oxygen,
    not as shelter,
    not as a missing piece—

    but as the one
    I choose
    while standing steady,
    while whole,
    while free.

    I don’t need you.

    I just
    want you
    here.

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

  • Love Is Choice: A Manifesto on Real, Intentional Love by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Introduction

    Recently, I’ve seen a lot of people online talking about love—what it is, what it should be and what it feels like. A lot of it makes it sound like love should be a fairytale, or something effortless. I wanted to share my own take: what love really is, from my perspective. This is my manifesto.

    Silhouettes of two people standing side by side, hands nearly touching, bathed in warm sunrise light, representing devotion and choice in love.
    Love is not effortless—it is choice, presence, and devotion, alive in everyday moments.

    Love Is Choice: A Manifesto
    Manifesto by Rowan Evans

    Love is not a fairytale.
    It is not magic, destiny, or some effortless, perfect emotion that simply exists.
    Love is work.
    Love is patience.
    Love is showing up, again and again, even when it is hard, even when it is mundane, even when it is inconvenient.

    Love is choice.
    It is the decision to walk beside someone, to carry their weight with them—not instead of them, but alongside them.
    It is the conscious commitment to witness, honor, and respond to who they are, fully, unedited, and without trying to fix what isn’t broken.

    Love is active.
    It is listening when words are hard to find.
    It is staying present when life shakes everything apart.
    It is forgiving, learning, compromising, and holding space without judgment.

    Love is honest.
    It does not gloss over pain or disappointment.
    It does not pretend every moment is blissful or effortless.
    It sees the darkness, acknowledges it, and chooses to stay.
    It sees the light, celebrates it, and nurtures it.

    Love is courageous.
    It is daring to be vulnerable, to give your heart fully without demanding repayment.
    It is resisting the temptation to escape when the weight is heavy, the storm is loud, or the moment is uncomfortable.
    It is understanding that enduring love is not measured by feeling, but by action.

    Love is sacred.
    It is not about ownership, perfection, or control.
    It is about respect, devotion, and the sacred trust that comes from seeing someone in their entirety and still choosing them.

    Love is worth the ache.
    The effort is not a burden—it is proof of devotion.
    The work is not punishment—it is a labor of care.
    The challenges are not failures—they are the evidence that love is real.

    Love is choice.
    Love is effort.
    Love is presence.
    Love is not a fairytale—but it is extraordinary, transformative, and alive in the everyday, ordinary moments that are shared with intention.

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