Author’s Note

Some poems arrive all at once.

This one arrived in pieces.

The opening came first—a joke, a banana peel, a little bit of wordplay and self-awareness. The speaker trips over their own feelings and tries to laugh about it before anyone notices.

That’s fairly normal for me.

Humor has always been one of the ways I approach vulnerability. Not because the feelings aren’t real, but because sometimes honesty becomes easier to hold when it’s carrying a joke.

But somewhere during the writing process, the poem shifted.

The focus stopped being the speaker’s feelings and became the person receiving them.

Because love, at least the kind I’m interested in writing about, isn’t ownership.

It isn’t rescue.

It isn’t fixing someone.

It’s creating safety.

The construction imagery in the second half comes from that idea. The speaker isn’t trying to rebuild another person or erase their past. They’re trying to create something steady. Something reliable. A place where another person can set down their fears for a while and rest.

That distinction matters to me.

Too many love stories focus on saving someone.

I’m more interested in what happens when you simply show up, consistently, and help build conditions where healing becomes possible.

Brick by brick.

Choice by choice.

Day by day.

The final lines grew from a belief I’ve carried for a long time:

Everyone deserves a future that feels safe to stand inside.

Everyone deserves foundations that don’t shake beneath them.

And sometimes the greatest gift we can offer another person isn’t a promise to save them.

It’s a promise to help build something that lasts.

— Rowan Evans

Not Rebuilding You
Poetry by Rowan Evans

It happened quick.
I slipped—
banana peel.
But you can trust me,
I think I’ve proven that, (huh?)
so you know
you can trust
what I feel is real.

From the fear
to devotion,
loyalty in motion—
I try to give you no reason
to question.

And you don’t need
to return this.
This isn’t a library,
no overdue charge—
just a gift straight from my heart,
that I give with purpose.

And if you’re wondering
why I give like this…

You’re worth it.

I’d move earth,
shift dirt—
excavate
to stop the hurt.
Prepare the land
for a new foundation.

So let me lay brick after brick,
patience in every layer,
hope in every line.
Not rebuilding you—
just building a place
where you can finally rest
without fear of collapse.

And if it takes time,
I’m not afraid of slow miracles—

because love like this
isn’t renovation—
it’s resurrection.

A clearing of old ruins,
a promise carved into the earth:
you deserve a future
that doesn’t hurt to stand on.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[The Language Her Soul Speaks]
What if love isn’t about being understood, but learning to understand someone else? “The Language Her Soul Speaks” is a free verse poem about intimacy, communication, curiosity, and the desire to know another person beyond the limits of language.

[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.

[L Words & Heart]
A playful, self-aware poem about love, longing, loyalty, and the quiet ways another person can reshape our inner world. What begins as humor slowly reveals a heartfelt confession about affection, imagination, and the faces that linger in our dreams.

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