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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: self-reflection

  • Poet’s Curse — A Poem About Heartbreak, Attachment & Letting Go

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There is a particular kind of heartbreak that doesn’t have a villain.

    Sometimes nobody betrayed you.

    Nobody lied.

    Nobody promised you something they couldn’t give.

    Sometimes someone simply exists, speaks to you, makes you feel something—and your heart decides to build an entire mythology around it.

    That is where Poet’s Curse came from.

    I’ve joked before about having a poet’s curse: the tendency to fall into feelings quickly, to hear a little beauty in someone’s voice and suddenly find myself wading into the waves after it. But beneath the joke is something I’ve had to become more honest about.

    Sometimes my heartbreak is partly mine.

    Not because I was wrong to feel what I felt, but because I have a habit of giving pieces of myself away before I’ve figured out whether there is somewhere safe for them to land.

    The person in this poem didn’t necessarily do anything wrong. She didn’t promise me forever. She didn’t lead me somewhere just to abandon me. She talked—and I listened. I heard a siren’s song, and
    I chose to wade into the water.

    So this isn’t a poem about blaming her.

    It’s about looking at myself afterward and admitting something uncomfortable:

    I learned how to hold on long before I learned how to let go.

    And maybe that’s the real curse.

    Not that I love too deeply.

    Not that I feel too much.

    But that once I give someone a piece of my heart, I don’t always know how to take my hands away from the fire.

    Sometimes the only way forward is to stop calling that weakness a curse and start learning the skill I never had—

    how to let go without becoming less capable of love.

    — Rowan Evans

    A fountain pen and open notebook beside dark ocean waves while glowing fragments of a crimson heart drift away.
    Sometimes the hardest thing to learn isn’t how to love—it’s how to let go of what you’ve already given away.

    Poet’s Curse
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Here we go again
    it’s another season of sin,
    the poet’s back
    heartbroken with a pen.

    Yeah, went and fuckin’
    did it again—

    it’s my fault
    my heart is cracked,
    with pieces missing.

    You see, I give them away
    too freely, it’s such a pain
    to be me, I get hooked
    too easily—

    she did nothing wrong,
    she didn’t lead me on, just talked
    and I heard a siren’s song—

    I waded into the waves,
    prayed for things to change.

    Pardon the moment of slowness,
    give me a moment while I own this
    and take accountability for my part
    in breaking my heart.

    It’s a poet’s curse—

    I only learned how to hold on.
    I never learned how to let go,
    my feelings and emotion
    like hot coals in my hands.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [When I Fall]
    When I Fall is a vulnerable poem about loving without reservation, feeling everything deeply, and refusing to make the heart smaller just because wholehearted love can sometimes lead to loneliness and pain.

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

  • Human Rorschach | A Poem About Perception, Perspective & Identity

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I’ve always been fascinated by the idea that people rarely see the same person the same way. We don’t meet others as blank slates—we meet them carrying our own history, fears, hopes, and assumptions.

    The Rorschach inkblot became the perfect metaphor for that. The inkblot itself isn’t trying to be anything; the meaning comes from the person looking at it.

    Maybe people work the same way.

    Every interaction is filtered through perspective, and perspective is shaped by perception, memory, and experience. Sometimes what another person believes about us reveals far more about their own journey than it does about who we actually are.

    This poem is an invitation to think about that relationship between identity and interpretation—and to remember that no one is ever seen exactly as they are.

    — Rowan Evans

    An abstract black inkblot resembling a human figure, open to multiple interpretations, on textured paper.
    What we see often reveals more about ourselves than the person we’re looking at.

    Human Rorschach
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m an inkblot
    in human form,
    a real Rorschach—

    am I couple kissing,
    or a mushroom cloud?

    Love or destruction—

    what do you see
    when you look at me?

    Know there are
    no wrong answers—

    because what you believe
    is fed by what you see
    and what you see is perspective,
    but perspective is shaped by perception—

    I am open to interpretation
    and it changes,
    with everything
    you’ve lived through—

    the things you’ve survived.

    What you see
    when you look at me,
    says more about your life—

    than it does mine.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [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.

    [Leave No Self Behind]
    What if finding yourself isn’t about discovering someone new, but learning to walk beside every version you’ve ever been? “Leave No Self Behind” is a meditation on memory, healing, and embracing the selves we once abandoned.

    [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.

    [Through My View]
    No two people experience the world the same way. Through My View is a reflective free verse poem exploring perspective, imagination, and the impossibility of fully seeing through another person’s eyes.

    [Just Human]
    Just Human is a reflective free verse poem about seeing people before borders, choosing empathy over division, and finding home in our shared humanity rather than on a map.

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

  • One Honest Sentence | A Confessional Poem About Vulnerability, Love & the Fear of Being Seen

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There are two versions of every poet.

    The one who can write about anything, and the one who struggles to write the one thing that matters most.

    This poem begins with confidence—almost arrogance—as the speaker celebrates the ability to write in any voice, on any subject, from any perspective. But beneath that confidence is a question I’ve wrestled with for years: if it’s so easy to write about everything, why is it so difficult to write one completely honest sentence?

    Humor, metaphors, references, and wordplay are some of my favorite tools. They help me explore ideas, soften difficult emotions, and make heavy subjects more approachable. But they can also become places to hide.

    One Honest Sentence is about recognizing that difference. Sometimes the greatest challenge isn’t finding beautiful language—it’s finding the courage to stop decorating the truth long enough to simply say it.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary writer sits before a blank page while countless handwritten pages float around them, symbolizing the struggle between creativity and emotional honesty.
    Writing beautifully is a skill.

    Writing honestly is a different kind of courage.

    One Honest Sentence
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I don’t usually like to do this, but
    I’m going to do it anyway, because
    I’m tired of pretending—

    why should I lie and say
    I’m not that guy,
    when I know I am.

    Give me a pen,
    and I can write anything.

    If a person can think it
    or have an experience,
    I can turn it into poetry.
    I do it by stringing ink
    into so many pretty lines—

    but I don’t bother to try
    and rhyme, most of the time.

    I wrote poem after poem—
    I can write a poem about the search for home
    while feeling alone in a crowded room,
    talking about how this house feels like a tomb.

    I can write island hopping epics—

    I can silence skeptics,
    put their opinions in the septic—

    they don’t know
    shhh—

    it’s no wonder they talk a lot,
    their minds are empty, got no thoughts.
    So the verbal diarrhea doesn’t stop—

    and when I read what they write,
    I call them Watson
    ’cause their lines are elementary.

    I’ve written thirty lines of flex
    and after thirty lines,
    you’re probably wondering—

    what’s next?

    Well—

    how about we pivot
    from flex to truth?

    Earlier I said—

    give me a pen and I can
    write anything.

    I can take the joy, the pain,
    the sun, the rain
    and write a whole damn series—

    it’s even easier
    if it didn’t happen to me,
    I can write about it for days—
    poem after poem,
    different angles of the same thing.

    Because it’s easy
    writing about just anything—

    what’s hard is writing
    a single truth,
    without burying it in jokes
    and misdirection.

    And maybe that’s the joke—

    I can write whole worlds,
    but not one honest sentence
    without my pulse stuttering.

    Like what would happen—
    if I just said it?

    If I turned 1-4-3 to letters
    and I just meant it?

    Would the world cease to be?

    I guess I’m just afraid—

    because once I say it,
    I can’t unsay it.

    Once I write it,
    it becomes real.

    And real things
    can be lost,
    can be rejected,
    can be held—

    and I don’t know
    which scares me more.

    So again I ask—

    what would happen
    if I just said it?

    Maybe you’d laugh.
    Maybe you’d freeze.
    Maybe you’d say it back.

    Maybe nothing would change
    except—

    I’d finally be done
    hiding behind metaphors.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [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.

    [Just Human]
    Just Human is a reflective free verse poem about seeing people before borders, choosing empathy over division, and finding home in our shared humanity rather than on a map.

    [Director’s Commentary]
    Director’s Commentary is a self-aware free verse poem that turns the poet’s recurring metaphors into the subject itself, exploring creativity, artistic habits, and the humorous inner critic that follows every writer from draft to draft.

    [The Answer Is (Yes)]
    What kind of writer am I? Mythmaker, confessor, comedian, philosopher, dream-architect, romantic, storyteller, and diss-poet. This self-reflective poem explores the impossibility of fitting creativity into a single category—and embraces every version of the truth a pen can touch.

    [Before We Created the Labels]
    Ancient gods return to a fractured world shaped by borders, identities, and separation. “Before We Created the Labels” explores humanity’s divisions through mythic imagery, sacred ritual, and symbolic collapse—asking what remains when we learn to see one another beyond labels.

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

  • Maybe the Storm Is Me | A Poem About Fear, Growth & Personal Change

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem began with frustration, but it didn’t stay there.

    Sometimes it’s easy to blame circumstances for feeling stuck, especially when life starts to feel like the same day repeating itself. While writing this piece, I realized something uncomfortable: the biggest obstacle in front of me wasn’t where I lived or what I lacked—it was my own hesitation.

    That realization isn’t meant as self-punishment. It’s an invitation to look honestly at fear. Growth often means stepping into uncertainty, and that’s rarely comfortable. The “storm” in this poem isn’t destruction—it’s transformation waiting to happen.

    Sometimes the hardest person to convince to move forward is yourself.

    — Rowan Evans

    A lone figure stands beneath towering storm clouds illuminated by warm light, symbolizing personal transformation and overcoming the fear of change.
    Sometimes the storm isn’t waiting on the horizon.

    Sometimes it’s waiting inside us—asking us to finally move.

    Maybe the Storm Is Me
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Every day I pray for change,
    and every day is just the same.
    I go to bed in America,
    wake up in America—

    but that’s my fault I guess,
    I haven’t pushed myself enough.

    So really,
    it’s my fault I’m stuck.

    Damn—

    that sucks.

    What a realization to have,
    that really makes me mad—

    and honestly…

    kind of sad.

    I’m stuck and it’s my fault,
    when I’m sitting on fire in the vault.

    Maybe that’s the worst part—

    knowing I’m built for more
    than this loop I keep living.

    Knowing I’ve got heat
    in my hands,
    ideas that burn holes
    through the page,
    dreams loud enough
    to shake the dust off my life…

    Yet—

    I keep waking up
    in the same place,
    I swore I’d outgrown.

    And maybe that’s why
    the anger hits so hard—

    because I can feel the future
    pressing against the walls,
    like it’s waiting for me
    to finally stop hesitating
    and let myself out.

    I keep talking about change
    like it’s a storm on the horizon,
    but maybe the storm is me—

    all this pressure,
    all this potential,
    all this fire I keep storing
    instead of using.

    Maybe I’m not stuck
    because I’m weak—

    maybe I’m stuck
    because I’m scared
    of what happens
    when I finally move.

    Journey with the Hexverse…

    [Through My View]
    No two people experience the world the same way. Through My View is a reflective free verse poem exploring perspective, imagination, and the impossibility of fully seeing through another person’s eyes.

    [More Afraid Than the Ink]
    Some confessions are easy to write but impossible to speak. More Afraid Than the Ink explores fear, dreams, recurring symbols, and the quiet realization that the page has always been braver than the poet.

    [Just Human]
    Just Human is a reflective free verse poem about seeing people before borders, choosing empathy over division, and finding home in our shared humanity rather than on a map.

    [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.

    [Where Music Becomes Weather]
    Some songs feel like storms. Others feel like shelter. Where Music Becomes Weather explores how music shapes emotion, memory, and the landscapes we carry within us.

    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]

  • 5:01 (Pull the Punchline Back) | A Confessional Poem About Humor as Emotional Armor

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some people assume that because I write confessional poetry, vulnerability comes naturally to me.

    It doesn’t.

    My first instinct is almost always to make a joke.

    If something hurts, I’ll reach for humor. If something feels too exposed, I’ll bury it beneath a cartoon reference, a comic book nod, or a punchline that arrives just before the truth does.

    This poem is about that instinct.

    It explores the strange contradiction at the center of my writing: I’m willing to confess almost anything—as long as I can disguise it first.

    The title, 5:01, marks another early morning when my thoughts were moving faster than I could organize them. And “Pull the Punchline Back” became my way of describing what happens when I realize I’ve hidden behind humor for just a second too long.

    Sometimes the joke protects me.

    Sometimes it prevents me from saying what I actually mean.

    This poem lives somewhere between those two realities.

    — Rowan Evans

    A lone person walking through an empty street at sunrise while faded comic book imagery dissolves into the morning light, symbolizing humor giving way to emotional honesty.
    Sometimes the hardest part of confession isn’t finding the words—it’s resisting the joke that tries to replace them.

    5:01 (Pull the Punchline Back)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    5:01—
    the morning comes
    and my thoughts run,
    like a marathon.

    You see—
    most the time
    my thoughts move quick,
    like a sprint—
    Usain?

    No, insane.

    I bolt when I feel
    I care too much—

    here the vulnerability comes,
    so where’s the joke at?
    I got to hide that—
    pull the punchline back.

    I put a brave face on—
    they call me Courage,
    even though
    I’m a cowardly dog.

    Isn’t it funny?
    I’m a confessional poet,
    but I hide the confession
    behind a wall of jokes—

    and cartoon references—
    can’t forget the comic books.

    The page is a phone booth,
    I go into to change—
    but I’m not trying to be a hero here,
    there’s no S on my chest.

    I’m just here for those
    that are stressed and struggling.

    And this is my problem,
    I’ve got my own problems,
    then I take mo’ problems,
    they were yo’ problems—

    now I’m juggling.

    The sad thing is—
    the whole time
    this is what my mind
    has been running from.

    It’s incredible—
    how fast I Dash,
    gone in a Flash,
    like I ran to the past
    to escape—

    everything I want.

    Connection.
    Reflection.

    So I keep my feet moving
    until I get where I’m going,
    and I’m not showin’—
    no signs of slowin’.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [I’d Rather Try]
    Anyone can promise they’d die for someone. But love isn’t built on one dramatic moment—it’s built on showing up, trying again tomorrow, and proving your words through consistent action.

    [Tots, Rocks and All]
    What begins as a surreal collection of tater tots, rocks, comic book references, and runaway thoughts slowly reveals something much quieter: a poem about creativity, vulnerability, and the simple hope of finding someone willing to hold your heart.

    [Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3)]
    What begins as a surreal collection of tater tots, rocks, comic book references, and runaway thoughts slowly reveals something much quieter: a poem about creativity, vulnerability, and the simple hope of finding someone willing to hold your heart.

    [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.

    [No You and I, Only Us]
    A hopeful free verse poem about empathy, borders, and imagining a world where humanity matters more than division.

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

  • Director’s Commentary | A Meta Poem About Writing, Metaphors & Creative Habits

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Every writer has a toolbox.

    Mine just happens to contain an alarming number of moons, oceans, ravens, comic book characters, sports references, cartoons, and entirely too much ink.

    People occasionally notice that I return to the same imagery over and over again. They’re right.

    The funny thing is…

    I’m usually the first person to notice.

    This poem came from imagining an overly critical director sitting just off-camera, pausing every scene to point out my habits.

    “Another moon?”

    “Really? The ocean again?”

    “We’re doing ravens today?”

    It’s the internal voice every creative person develops after making enough work. The one that starts recognizing your patterns before anyone else does.

    Sometimes it’s helpful.

    Sometimes it’s insufferable.

    The joke, of course, is that the director isn’t entirely wrong.

    I do write about the moon a lot.

    I do return to oceans, tides, dreams, and ravens.

    I do compare things to comic books, cartoons, sports, horror movies, and whatever random piece of culture my brain decides belongs in the poem that day.

    Because those things aren’t decorations.

    They’re the language my mind naturally speaks.

    The final section—”Music—10/10. No Notes.”—is probably the closest thing to surrender in the entire poem.

    Apparently my inner critic has limits.

    Music gets a free pass.

    Everything else is fair game.

    Including me.

    — Rowan Evans

    A writer's desk covered with poetry pages, recurring symbols like moons and oceans, and film director notes critiquing the creative process.
    “Every writer has recurring motifs. Mine just happened to get their own director’s commentary.” 🎬🌙✍️

    Director’s Commentary
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    The Moon—

    Here we go again,
    another moon metaphor.

    What is it this time?

    The moon shimmering
    above the bay?
    A stand in for her beauty—

    Ocean—

    My favorite metaphor.

    The one I’ve used
    thousands upon thousands
    of times before—
    written in thousands of lines,
    in a thousand different rhymes.

    Hyperbole.

    The Tide—

    Yes, there it is—
    the final piece
    of this overused metaphor chain,
    you say it’s different
    but it’s all the same.

    Same moon.
    over the same bay,
    and it shimmers
    in the same way.

    It’s almost like the moon,
    ocean, and tide
    are all that exist
    inside that little mind.

    Ravens—

    So spooky.
    So gothic.

    You write ravens
    like you shop
    exclusively at Hot Topic.

    They’re messengers.
    They witness.
    And once upon a time
    you even made them a centerpiece.

    You took that way too seriously
    back in your “modern-day Poe” era.

    A modern-day Poe?

    Ridiculous.

    Sports—

    You don’t even watch those.

    Why are you writing
    metaphors for the bros?

    You think you’re great?
    Yeah, you’re The Babe.
    23 years and a Jordan joke—
    okay, Shohei.

    Random Cartoon Reference—

    Which character are you
    going to grab this time?

    Which bit of nostalgia
    are you going to try
    and exploit?

    Random references,
    litter the page—
    Powerpuff Girls,
    Doug and Dexter.

    So what’s next?

    Something more obscure,
    or more mainstream?

    Comic Books—

    Tropes.

    Superheroes and capes.

    Random character grab,
    used in a metaphor
    that barely makes sense—

    like Bane
    for line breaks?
    What the “#%@$”
    was that?

    I’ll give you
    Two-Face for fakes
    and snakes, because
    that one makes sense.

    Music—

    10/10.
    No Notes.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Pointing Me Home]
    The final poem in the No Metaphor Left Behind trilogy explores dreams, hope, and belonging. Through moonlight, ocean tides, and quiet conversation, Pointing Me Home reflects on carrying hope long before reaching the place you call home.

    [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.

    [Crossing the Sea]
    A deeply personal poem about relocation, longing, and the realization that some truths naturally arrive through metaphor—even when we try to leave it behind.

    [Danny Phantom Theology]
    What begins as a metaphor borrowed from a childhood cartoon becomes something deeper: a reflection on existing between survival and possibility, exhaustion and hope, the life we have and the life we long for. Danny Phantom Theology explores what it means to keep moving toward a future that feels worth living.

    [Frankenstein’s Monster (and I’m the Doctor)]
    Some poems are built to make a point. Others are built to reveal the mechanism. Frankenstein’s Monster (and I’m the Doctor) explores associative thinking, creative chaos, and the strange process of stitching disconnected ideas into something alive.

    [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.

    [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.

    [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]

  • Translating What I Feel | A Poem About Creativity, Emotion, and the Writing Process

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem began with an image.

    Not a line. Not a metaphor.

    An image.

    A single figure standing alone, staring into the distance like the opening shot of a film.

    At first, the poem exists entirely outside the body. The speaker is observed rather than understood. We see the wind. The trees. The dirt beneath their feet. We hear a voice describing loneliness from a distance.

    Then the question arrives:

    “Is that the truth or the depression talking?”

    For me, that’s the moment the camera moves.

    The poem stops observing the speaker and starts inhabiting them.

    Everything before that question is external.

    Everything after it is internal.

    The scenery gives way to self-examination. The loneliness becomes less important than the act of interrogating it. The poem begins pulling apart its own construction, examining how emotions become images and how images eventually become language.

    In many ways, this piece accidentally became a poem about my entire creative process.

    I’ve spent twenty-three years translating feelings into words.

    Not just the dramatic emotions. Not just love, grief, or heartbreak.

    Everything.

    The strange moments. The passing thoughts. The questions that linger longer than they should.

    The title came from that realization.

    Because that’s what poetry has always felt like to me.

    Translation.

    An emotion enters one side of the mind.

    An image emerges from the other.

    And somewhere in between, a poem happens.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary poet stands by the shoreline at dusk as ink transforms into waves and moonlight, symbolizing emotions becoming poetry.
    Every poem begins as a feeling before it becomes a language.

    Translating What I Feel
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I stand, staring into the distance,
    alone in this instance—
    it’s just me and the breeze,
    running through the trees.

    I can feel cold dirt and stone
    beneath my feet.

    Wind brushes skin,
    feather-light
    like finger tips—
    it reminds me
    of how alone I am.

    Is that the truth
    or the depression talking?

    Because sometimes
    I feel alone
    when there are people
    around me.

    That last stanza
    moved like the tide.

    A long line—
    followed by one shorter,
    then longer again.

    Even when I don’t say it,
    the ocean imagery arrives.
    I don’t even have to try—
    it just pours out of me,
    like a dam breaking.

    Everything held back,
    rushes forth as the pen
    hits the page.

    You get the opening lines,
    that’s where the truth slips.
    Mid-stanza
    is where the truth sits.
    Then one or two lines
    to really make the truth hit.

    You see—
    this is the creative side of me.
    I feel something then translate it
    inside of me,
    from data to image
    then I spit it in ink on the page.

    I’ve spent 23 years
    translating what I feel—
    love, loneliness and rage…

    happiness and pain.

    Two sides of the coin,
    they’re different
    but the same.

    So there I stood…

    staring into the distance,
    unsure if I was alone in that instance—
    it was just me and the thoughts
    running through my mind.

    Slowly being translated
    into poetic lines.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Where Music Becomes Weather]
    Some songs feel like storms. Others feel like shelter. Where Music Becomes Weather explores how music shapes emotion, memory, and the landscapes we carry within us.

    [Returning to My Bones]
    Some dreams fade the moment we wake. Others leave behind emotions that linger long after reality returns. Returning to My Bones explores the strange grief of leaving a dream that felt real enough to matter.

    [Recognizes Home]
    A free-verse poem exploring the difference between love as dependency and love as choice. It challenges the idea that love must be need-based, instead centering the quiet strength of choosing someone while still remaining whole on your own.

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

  • For the World to Remember Me Again | A Poem About Headaches, Disconnection & Finding Focus

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece began exactly where it sounds like it did:

    With a headache.

    Not a dramatic one. Not a poetic one.

    Just the kind that makes it difficult to focus. The kind where every sound feels a little sharper than it should. The kind where your thoughts stop moving cleanly and start dragging their feet.

    I sat down intending to write about that feeling.

    But somewhere along the way, the poem became less about pain and more about disconnection.

    Because what struck me wasn’t the headache itself.

    It was the strange sensation of feeling slightly removed from the world around me.

    Like reality had taken half a step backward.

    Like I was still present, but not entirely anchored.

    The images of echoes, warped thoughts, blurred edges, and slipping focus all came from trying to describe that experience as honestly as possible.

    What surprised me was where the poem ended.

    I started by writing about a physical sensation.

    I ended by writing about recognition.

    About the desire to feel fully present again.

    To feel connected to yourself, your surroundings, and the moment you’re living in.

    The title comes from that realization.

    Because sometimes discomfort doesn’t make us feel absent.

    It makes us feel forgotten.

    Not by other people, necessarily, but by the world itself.

    As though we’ve drifted just far enough away from ourselves to notice the distance.

    And all we can do is sit quietly and wait for clarity to return.

    For the world to remember us again.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary person sitting quietly with a headache as the world around them blurs and fades into soft echoes of light.
    “Some days it isn’t pain that feels overwhelming—it’s the distance between yourself and the world around you.”

    For the World to Remember Me Again
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ve got a headache,
    can’t see straight—
    vision blurring at the edges.

    It’s the kind of headache—
    where even the silence
    is loud.

    And I sit in it,
    this ringing hush,
    like the world has stepped back
    and left me echoing alone.

    It’s like—
    every sound echoes
    in a cavernous skull.

    Like my thoughts are ricocheting
    off the walls of me,
    coming back warped,
    a little less mine
    each time—

    the rhythm
    loses a little bit
    of its rhyme.

    Every pulse is thunder,
    every heartbeat a warning—
    a storm gathering
    behind my eyes.

    I try to focus,
    but the edges keep slipping—
    like my mind is smudging
    under its own weight.

    So I breathe,
    slow and deliberate,
    hoping the world will settle
    back into focus—

    or at least…

    stop slipping away.

    And I wait,
    quiet as I can,
    for the world
    to remember me again.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Before My Feet Touch the Floor]
    What happens when your dreams feel more real than your waking life? Before My Feet Touch the Floor explores the strange grief of waking up, the lingering memory of dream selves, and the quiet question of which version of us is truly real.

    [Recognizes Home]
    A free-verse poem exploring the difference between love as dependency and love as choice. It challenges the idea that love must be need-based, instead centering the quiet strength of choosing someone while still remaining whole on your own.

    [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.

    [Not Rebuilding You]
    A poem about love as an act of presence rather than rescue. Through construction imagery, Not Rebuilding You explores trust, devotion, emotional safety, and the quiet work of building a foundation strong enough for healing to grow.

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

  • Reading the Sky | A Poem About Depression, Healing, and Emotional Cycles

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    People sometimes talk about depression like it’s constant sadness.

    For me, it’s rarely that simple.

    Sometimes it’s pressure. Sometimes it’s exhaustion. Sometimes it’s numbness so quiet you don’t notice how deep you’ve sunk until something shifts and suddenly you can breathe again.

    That’s where this piece came from.

    Not from a dramatic breakthrough— just a morning where the weight felt lighter.

    And when you’ve carried storms inside yourself for long enough, even small moments of relief can feel almost unreal.

    But one of the hardest things to learn about living with depression is this:

    good days don’t erase bad ones, and bad days don’t erase good ones.

    The storm passing doesn’t mean it’ll never return.

    It means you survived it long enough to recognize clear skies when they arrive.

    That’s what Reading the Sky became about for me.

    Not curing the storm. Not defeating it.

    Just learning its patterns. Learning when the pressure shifts. Learning how to keep breathing through both the thunder and the quiet afterward.

    And maybe most importantly—

    allowing yourself to enjoy the clean air when it finally comes.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary person stands beneath clearing storm clouds as sunlight begins breaking through the sky after rain.
    Some victories are simply learning how to breathe again after the storm passes.

    Reading the Sky
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I woke today
    feeling different—

    like everything
    had changed,
    in an instant.

    Like the storm inside
    had finally gone silent.
    The winds had died,
    but I was alive.

    Smile on my face—
    for the first time,
    didn’t feel out of place.

    I could still see
    lightning on the edges
    of my perception—
    feel the rumble
    of thunder
    in my chest.

    It was softer now.

    This storm had passed,
    but another
    would surely come.

    It’s a cycle—

    and these things
    have a season.

    The storms?

    They come
    and go.

    That’ll never change.

    It’s learning
    to read the sky,
    to feel
    when the pressure shifts.

    Now let me say this plain…

    I’ve got depression.

    It lives in my chest,
    waiting to teach me lessons.

    It’s a storm
    I’ve weathered—

    more than
    any one person should.

    That’s what makes
    days like these—
    feel like the cleanest air
    I’ve ever breathed.

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