Tag: self-worth

  • Author’s Note

    “Money can’t buy happiness” has always sounded a little too tidy to me.

    Money can absolutely buy comfort, convenience, security, experiences, and a whole lot of things that can make life easier. Pretending otherwise misses the point. But there’s a difference between making life more comfortable and making yourself happy.

    Money Can’t Buy Happiness—If You’re a Miserable Bitch takes that familiar saying, argues with it, insults it a little, and then lands somewhere in the middle: money might change your circumstances, but it can’t do the internal work for you.

    If you’re miserable before the money arrives, there’s a decent chance you’ll just become a wealthier miserable person.

    So, yeah.

    Bitch, please.

    — Rowan Evans


    A poet surrounded by wealth and luxury while a dark reflection suggests that money cannot create inner happiness.
    Money can buy the room. It can’t decide what happens inside your head.

    Money Can’t Buy Happiness—If You’re a Miserable Bitch
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    They say money can’t buy happiness—
    and honestly, that’s half true.
    Money doesn’t buy happiness,
    money buys things—
    and things bring happiness
    for a minute it seems—
    but money can’t buy happiness?

    Bitch, please—
    that sounds like something
    somebody with money
    would say—

    because it’s not the cash
    that brings the smile,
    it’s the ease
    the cash brings—

    so they say
    money can’t buy happiness,
    but they’re only half right—

    money can’t buy happiness—
    if you’re a miserable bitch.

    You’ve got to already be happy and shit,
    so learn to love what you’ve got.
    Because when the money comes,
    and you’re swimming in funds—
    if you’re not already happy
    with where you’re at?

    You’ll never be happy after that.


    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Sick Bird]
    A short, uncompromising political metaphor that questions the fixation on left versus right when the entire system may be sick. Through the image of a collapsing bird, the poem confronts division, corruption, and the consequences of ignoring the larger failure.

    [For the Youth (Remix)]
    A 2026 remix of Rowan Evans’s original 2024 poem, encouraging young people to embrace their truth, recognize their worth, raise their voices, and become the light they want to see in the world.

    [Rose & Ruin]
    Two minimalist poems exploring the opposing forces within creativity: the thoughts we cultivate into something beautiful and the darker thoughts we transform before they have a chance to decay.

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

  • Author’s Note

    Some poems change because the poet changes.

    Kintsugi Sunrise (Remix) returns to a piece I first wrote in January 2024—a poem born from a mind trying to survive its own cracks. The original captured the feeling from inside the storm. This version comes back to the same landscape with a little more distance, a little more clarity, and a different relationship with the person standing among the broken pieces.

    The cracks are still part of the picture. So is the gold.

    But this time, the sunrise feels less like something I am desperately waiting for and more like something I have finally learned to recognize.

    The original was about trying to become whole.

    The remix is about realizing I was already becoming something new.

    — Rowan Evans


    A cracked vessel repaired with glowing gold rests beneath a sunrise, symbolizing healing, resilience, and finding hope through brokenness.
    The cracks remained. I just learned how to fill them with gold and face the sunrise.

    Kintsugi Sunrise (Remix)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Apologies whispered—

    I had to disappear for a while,
    retreat inside my mind,
    try to rewire—

    cause I was feeling broken,
    shattered.

    There were cracks in my psyche,
    twisting thoughts inside me—

    telling me I’m worthless—

    every night I’d drift
    into a hell scape—
    stuck in my mind’s cage.

    So I’d sit inside my mind,
    filling cracks with gold—
    finding beauty in the pain,
    performing kintsugi on my brain.

    And the pain eased,
    clouds lifted—

    something shifted—

    no more skies of grey.

    Finally, I could sit and watch
    the sun rise on a new day—
    my outlook had changed.

    Now I look to the future—

    with hope.


    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Half a Picture]
    What happens when someone falls in love with the person they discover through your poetry? Half a Picture explores the strange intimacy between writer and reader—and the distance between seeing someone’s mind through their words and truly knowing the whole person.

    [For the Youth (Remix)]
    A 2026 remix of Rowan Evans’s original 2024 poem, encouraging young people to embrace their truth, recognize their worth, raise their voices, and become the light they want to see in the world.

    [All for Me]
    When thunder becomes applause, lightning turns into paparazzi, and rain rolls out a flooded red carpet, one poet starts wondering whether nature’s celebration has gone a little too far.

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

  • Author’s Note

    Lessons Without Kindness is about the strange education that can come from losing someone who once felt like your entire world.

    This isn’t really a poem about getting even. It’s about looking back at a relationship that changed, recognizing the games, the silence, and the ways I allowed myself to become smaller just to keep someone else comfortable—and realizing that I don’t live that way anymore.

    The person who taught me these lessons never intended to be my teacher. They didn’t sit me down and explain what I needed to learn. They simply gave me an experience harsh enough that I eventually learned it myself.

    Sometimes the most important lessons don’t come from kindness, wisdom, or good intentions.

    Sometimes they come from realizing what you will never allow yourself to become again.

    — Rowan Evans


    A figure leaving a shadowed hallway through a doorway of light, symbolizing self-respect learned from a painful relationship.
    Not every teacher is kind. Not every lesson is wasted.

    Lessons Without Kindness
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    There was a time when
    you were my world,
    everything was fine and
    we really did love each other,
    or so I thought—
    yeah, we’d always talk—constantly,
    I was always thinking of you,
    and I thought
    you thought about me too.
    Maybe you did—once,

    then you changed
    and started playing games—
    you tried to get under my skin,
    pit me against him.
    But here’s the thing—
    he was never gonna win.
    I mean, truly,
    the only real loser was you—
    because in doing what you did,
    you lost me too.

    And I’m not saying I was a prize,
    but I really was a catch for you—
    I put up with too much,
    and spoke up too little.
    But I don’t do that anymore.
    I don’t shrink so someone else can feel tall.
    I don’t bend so someone else can feel right.
    I don’t stay quiet so someone else can stay comfortable.

    You taught me that.
    Not intentionally—
    but lessons don’t need kindness
    to be true,
    just a student and a teacher—
    that was me and you.


    Journey into the Hexverse

    [The Sacred Timeline]
    From childhood stories about Dragon Ball Z, Power Rangers, and Pokémon to gothic cathedrals, ravens, roses, identity, healing, and experimentation, The Sacred Timeline traces how Rowan Evans’s relationship with the pen evolved across thirty-six years—and how the ink remained while the writer kept changing.

    [The Metaphor Machine]
    A poem that takes apart its own machinery as it runs—breaking lines, breaking thoughts, and following metaphors from moonlight to tides, oceans, shorelines, and city streets.

    [Louder Than the Rain]
    A short confessional poem about the overwhelming noise of anxious thoughts, the strange silence of feeling alone in a crowded room, and finding a way to translate pain into words.

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

  • Author’s Note

    Some poems come back around for a reason.

    “Caged Birds Don’t Bow” was originally written in December 2024. This remix, written in July 2026, returns to that same image of wings, chains, and a bird refusing to be owned—but with a different rhythm and a little more fire behind the words.

    The cage may look familiar.

    The voice inside it isn’t.

    — Rowan Evans


    A woman with luminous wings stands before a broken iron cage as feathers scatter into a stormy sky.
    The cage can break. The wings were never yours to own.

    Caged Birds Don’t Bow (Remix)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans
    (written July 30th, 2026)

    Man, listen up—
    you insecure little prince,
    crown crooked,
    ego bloated,
    ever since you figured control
    is how you earn love—

    but all you’re doing is clipping wings of a dove.

    “You can’t wear that,”
    says the self-proclaimed king—
    but real royalty?
    They let their queen’s voice sing.
    Dictating her diet
    like you’re running a show,
    but her worth isn’t a number,
    you shallow John Doe.

    You’re the puppet master—
    pulling her strings,
    but your hands?
    Dirty from the lies that you bring.
    Gaslight ignited,
    making her doubt her truth,
    while you bask in the glow of your toxic roots.

    “You’re mine,” you declare—
    but you’re just a fraud,
    trying to play God
    with her life as your facade.
    Your confidence is counterfeit,
    stitched from fear,
    you aren’t strong, bro,
    you’re just loud and unclear.

    She’s not your trophy,
    not your possession,
    not a canvas for your insecurities’ confession.
    Her wardrobe’s not a leash,
    her smile isn’t your prize,
    and her spirit?

    You’ll never own what’s divine.

    So take your rules,
    your claws, your chains,
    and shove them back into your hollow brain.
    Her love isn’t a cage,
    it’s a free flight,
    but you’d rather dim her
    than let her light ignite.

    She deserves better,
    someone who sees.
    Her value unmeasured,
    like the oceans and seas.
    But you?
    You’re just a storm cloud trying to rain
    on a rainbow she’s painted—
    escaping your pain.

    So step back, dude—
    watch her rise,
    You’ll never own the fire
    burning in her eyes.
    Your world crumbles,
    her strength takes wing—

    because caged birds don’t bow…

    they sing.


    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Hell’s Protégé (Remix)]
    Rowan Evans revisits Hell’s Protégé, originally written in 2024, and reshapes the dark, infernal persona through a newer voice. The remix keeps the fire, darkness, and diabolic ambition of the original while allowing the poem to breathe differently.

    [Hell’s Protégé & Caged Birds Don’t Bow]
    Dive into Rowan Evans’ twin poems, Hell’s Protégé and Caged Birds Don’t Bow, where fire meets freedom. Explore devotion, rebellion, and unapologetic truth through lyrical darkness and diss-track energy.

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

  • Author’s Note

    Some poems are meant to be complicated. This isn’t one of them.

    I wrote You Are Perfect as a reminder that our flaws don’t cancel our worth. We spend so much time measuring ourselves against impossible standards or letting other people decide what we’re worth that we forget something simple: being imperfect is part of being human.

    This poem isn’t saying you’ll never struggle or never doubt yourself. It’s saying those struggles don’t make you less deserving of love, respect, or compassion.

    If these words found you on a difficult day, I hope you borrow them until you can believe them for yourself.

    — Rowan Evans


    A person standing confidently at sunrise as flowers bloom around them, symbolizing self-worth and resilience.
    Your flaws don’t diminish your worth—they’re part of the story that makes you uniquely you.

    You Are Perfect
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Dear,
    whoever needs
    to hear this—

    you’re worth it,
    flaws and all—
    you’re perfect.

    So don’t let others
    tear you down,
    and tell you
    what your worth is.

    Keep your chin up—
    even when it’s hard.

    Don’t let the spectators
    see you sweat.
    Don’t let them see the tears,
    or the weight on your neck.

    Because not everyone
    knows how to be a witness—
    sometimes they don’t
    have your best in mind.

    They want to see you fail,
    they want to see you small.
    So keep your chin up,
    and stand tall—

    because it’s like I said
    in lines three through six:

    Hear this—

    you are worth it,
    with your flaws and all—


    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Human Rorschach]
    Sometimes we’re less a fixed person than an inkblot—our meaning changing with every set of eyes that looks at us. Human Rorschach explores perception, identity, and the ways our own experiences shape what we believe we see in others.

    [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.

    [Where the Metaphors Lead]
    Some truths are easier to write than they are to say aloud. “Where the Metaphors Lead” explores the quiet space between dreams, confession, and the courage it takes to let another person know how deeply they’ve become woven into your inner world.

    [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]

  • Author’s Note

    This poem started with one of those wonderfully ridiculous thoughts that refuses to leave.

    What if I took the opening joke from an old cartoon and treated it completely seriously?

    A chicken. A cow. A father who proudly accepts both without ever asking for an explanation.

    The image made me laugh, but as I kept writing, I realized the joke was quietly carrying something much larger.

    So much of life is spent convincing people that difference is something to overcome. We flatten ourselves to fit expectations, compare our gifts to someone else’s, or assume that being different somehow means being less.
    Nature has never worked that way.

    A forest isn’t strong because every tree is identical. An orchestra doesn’t create harmony by playing the same note. Communities become richer because different people bring different strengths, experiences, perspectives, and ways of seeing the world.

    That’s what this poem slowly became.

    The cartoon setup stayed, because I think humor can open a door that seriousness sometimes cannot.

    Once the reader laughs, they’re already listening.

    And maybe they’ll leave remembering something simple:

    You don’t have to become someone else to have value.

    Sometimes the thing that makes you different is exactly what the world needs.

    — Rowan Evans


    A chicken and a cow standing together in a sunlit pasture outside a red barn, symbolizing the beauty and strength found in differences.

    Difference Is How We Grow
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    “Don’t have a cow,” they said—
    why, my mama did?
    You see—

    Mama had a chicken.
    Mama had a cow.
    Dad was proud;
    he didn’t care how.

    And I know—
    that may sound absurd to you,
    but it’s a setup for a simple truth.

    There is strength in our differences—
    so let us try and identify
    what our difference is.

    Difference is not a warning sign—
    it’s a spark.

    A start.

    A door kicked open
    to a room you didn’t know you needed.

    You see—
    my family tree
    is less a tree
    and more a barnyard free‑for‑all.

    Feathers in the branches,
    hoofprints on the roots,
    and me somewhere in the middle
    trying to make sense of it all.

    But difference is not disorder—
    it’s the rhythm of the world
    learning to harmonize.

    So what makes you different—
    what is your strength?

    A cow gives milk,
    a chicken gives eggs—
    neither tries to be the other,
    yet breakfast would be poorer
    without both.

    So what do you bring to the table—
    that no one else can,
    and why hide it?

    Because sameness is a field gone fallow,
    but difference—
    difference is how we grow.


    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [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.

    [Off Leash Thought]
    A reflective free verse poem exploring the mind as a living, wandering force—unpredictable, creative, and sometimes chaotic—through the metaphor of a dog off leash. It embraces mental drift not as a flaw, but as a natural part of creative thought and self-awareness.

    [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.

    [Raccoons in Silk Pajamas]
    What begins with judgmental Space Chickens quickly spirals into camels in parked cars, elephants in jam jars, raccoons in silk pajamas, and astronauts in the ocean. A playful absurdist poem about language, imagination, and what happens when you stop trying to control where the words go.

    [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.

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

  • Author’s Note

    This piece wasn’t planned.

    It came out in one sitting–somewhere between thought and feeling, where things don’t always organize themselves neatly. It’s messy in the way real reflection tends to be.

    There’s a version of me that still exists in that room. The one surrounded by noise, by doubt, by everything that hasn’t fully let go yet.

    And for a long time, I thought the goal was to get out of that room entirely.

    To silence it. To leave it behind.

    But that’s not what happened.

    Instead, I learned how to sit in it differently.

    To see the shadows for what they are–not threats, but remnants. Not something to fear, but something to understand.

    And somewhere along the way, I realized something else–

    that I wasn’t alone in that space anymore.

    This piece is about that shift.

    Not from the darkness to light…
    but from fear to awareness.

    — Rowan Evans


    Person holding a glowing lantern in a dark empty room surrounded by shadowy figures, symbolizing inner demons and self-reflection.
    Even in the darkest rooms, a single light is enough to face what once felt impossible.

    Lantern in the Room
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I sit in an empty room—
    but I’m not alone here.

    It’s me, myself
    and the demons I hide.

    Remnants
    of a shattered mind,

    scattered across
    endless timelines.

    A life of possibility,
    held back by humility—
    and a lack of confidence.

    I don’t know
    how to take a compliment.

    What makes it worse is—
    I know my worth…
    but I question
    how anyone else could.

    I don’t let them
    get close enough to know.

    I get just close enough—
    close enough to know it’s real.

    Then I pull back—
    because I’m scared to feel.

    I’ve been hurt before.

    And that hurt—
    it festered,
    turned to rot.

    It spread
    inside my chest,
    until there was nothing left—

    just fear and doubt.

    In my head,
    they shout.

    I just wanted them out.

    And then—

    her.

    Her,
    with the voice
    that cuts through
    the fog.

    Her,
    with the eyes
    that light up the night—
    they brighten my life.

    Her…
    it’s always been her.

    Since the moment
    she appeared.
    It felt like—
    addiction.

    I couldn’t get enough.

    And I ask myself—
    is this love?

    I used to think
    I knew what that was.

    Now every thought
    revolves around her.

    Even when I drift,
    the thought of her
    brings me back to center.

    She’s the tether—
    a lighthouse
    in stormy weather.

    Just by existing,
    she makes me better.

    She didn’t save me.
    She didn’t fix me—

    she changed my perspective.

    That’s it.

    Now—
    I can’t picture
    what life was like before.

    It feels distant.

    Like a version of history
    that didn’t happen to me.

    But it did.

    That’s where my scars
    come from.

    It’s where the demons
    were born.

    The voices that whisper—
    the thoughts that scream—

    is this a nightmare
    or a dream?

    Because I’m still terrified.
    I’d be lying if I said otherwise.

    So I return to the room—
    lantern in hand.

    The shadows don’t scare me anymore.

    They’re just part
    of the narrative now.


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

  • Author’s Note

    Sometimes, we go through our days and no one tells us what we most need to hear. This poem is my gentle offering to you—the quiet reminder that your light, your strength, and your spirit matter. Read it, breathe it in, and carry it with you.


    Glowing star breaking through clouds at night, symbolizing hope and inner light.
    Even in darkness, your light shines. — Rowan Evans

    Invocation

    Before you read, pause. Close your eyes if you can. Let these words meet you where you are—tired, unsure, or overwhelmed. Let them remind you of the worth and brilliance you may have forgotten to see in yourself today.


    If Nobody Has Told You Today
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    If nobody has told you today—
    You are worthy, a radiant star,
    A beauty wrapped in quiet strength,
    Your light flickering softly, yet bright,
    Illuminating the shadows that dare to loom.

    If nobody has whispered in your ear—
    You are not a burden,
    But a gentle weight on the world,
    A melody woven into the fabric of existence,
    Harmonizing with the sighs of the universe.

    If nobody has taken a moment to see—
    You are beautiful,
    In ways that words may falter to capture,
    Each imperfection a stroke of artistry,
    A unique brush stroke on the canvas of life.

    If nobody has reminded you lately—
    You deserve to be loved fiercely,
    In the ways you’ve dreamed beneath starlit skies,
    With a tenderness that ignites your soul,
    And a passion that wraps around you like a warm embrace.

    If nobody has echoed the truth today—
    Keep your chin up, dear heart,
    For the storms that may howl outside
    Cannot touch the fortress you are building within.
    Rise above the chaos, dance in the rain,
    And know the sun will always return.

    If nobody has taken the time to say—
    I am proud of you, just for being you,
    For the battles you fight behind closed doors,
    For the strength that courses through your veins.
    You are a warrior, a dreamer, a light in the dark.

    So if nobody has told you today—
    Hear me now, in the stillness of this moment:
    You are worthy, you are enough,
    And your spirit is a flame
    That cannot be extinguished,
    A beautiful symphony that the world needs to hear.


    Benediction

    May these words stay with you, a flame against doubt.
    May your heart feel seen, your spirit steady,
    And your soul rise in quiet strength.

  • ✦ Author’s Note ✦

    This piece was born from exhaustion, from the bone-deep ache of being the keeper of others’ ruins while my own remain untouched.
    It isn’t a prayer for rescue—it’s a confession that even when we splinter, we still speak, still love, still remain.
    Thank you for reading my broken gospel.


    ✦ Content & Care Advisory ✦

    These words dwell in shadows of grief, loss, and the ache of unseen burdens. They speak of sorrow, despair, and the fragile pulse of the human heart. Read only if you feel steady, and remember—your safety, your breath, your life are sacred. You are not alone in the dark.


    Cracked porcelain angel in candlelight, symbolizing brokenness and tenderness.
    A gospel written in the language of fracture.

    ✦ Invocation ✦

    Before you read, know this was never meant to save me.
    These words were built from splinters,
    stitched together by loneliness and the quiet ache of being unseen.
    If they cut, let them cut honest—
    for this gospel was written in the language of fracture.


    Splinter Gospel
    Poetry by Rowan Evans


    This depression
    is pressin’
    down on my lungs.
    And I can’t breathe.

    I gasp and gasp,
    trying to grasp
    any reason to stay alive—
    when I just want to die.

    I’m never enough.
    Always too much.
    My life is a constant
    fucking contradiction,
    a paradox—

    I am always the shoulder,
    never the lover—
    always the one who stays,
    but easily replaced.

    I am the prayer they whisper
    when loneliness gnaws,
    but never the answer
    they keep when dawn comes.

    I am always the fixer,
    the one who pieces them back together—
    only to be left in the dust.
    An afterthought.

    I hold their ruins,
    but no one holds mine.
    A vessel for everyone’s ache—
    but never a name they choose to keep.

    Even knowing that—
    I stick around.
    It’s emotional masochism,
    I crave the ache, so I—

    I stay until I splinter,
    then watch them leave,
    carrying only the softness
    I begged them to see.


    ✦ Benediction ✦

    May your cracks speak louder than your silence.
    May your softness outlive those who failed to hold it.
    And if your gospel must splinter—
    let it still be yours, and yours alone.


    ✦ Read Next (Suggestions) ✦

    [Cry to the Quiet] — Sacred Desperation
    [Luminescence & Shadow] — A Forbidden Litany
    [A-Woman] — Confession at the Altar of Her
    [Reliquary of Broken Sons] — A Vignette of the Broken Saint & Clown Prince

    Or explore the full archive in [The Library of Ashes]—and if your own confession aches to be written, [commission a custom poem here]. NGCR25 at checkout to get 25% off your ‘request’…