Author’s Note

This piece is born from anger, from frustration, and from the long ache of being rootless in a nation that demands assimilation while erasing everything else. Bloodline & Ashes is me tearing through the lies of “American culture,” the sanitized history fed to us, and the violence hidden behind flags and fireworks. It’s a reclamation of voice—for the erased, the silenced, the forgotten. Every line is a hammer, every rhyme a torch, and every syllable a refusal to kneel to hollow traditions. This is not just poetry; it’s bloodline and fire, forged into truth.

Slim & Shady X: Bloodline & Ashes
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Man, they say—“Remember where you came from,”
I say, fuck that, I’m diggin’ through the marrow, the numb.
Books lied, TV lied, history sanitized,
Whitewashed heroes built on bodies they despised.

America? That’s a facade, a plastic masquerade,
Freedom sold in chains, in wars we never played.
Your culture’s fast food, fireworks over graves,
Pride wrapped in guns, in lies your teachers praise.

I spit venom in the mirror of your “melting pot,”
I see ghosts of ancestors, their stories forgot.
Candles in temples, voices carried on air,
I got the silence of a nation that don’t care.

White skin ain’t a story, it’s a cage with bars,
I’m built from forgotten names, the ghosts in the scars.
You think pigment defines me? Nah, I redefine,
Every vein a library, every heartbeat a shrine.

You celebrate Columbus, I mourn what he stole,
You cheer for your heroes, I spit for the soul.
Every “freedom” you flaunt is stolen from the meek,
Every star on your flag hides the blood on the street.

I’m the rootless kid, pilgrim in my own skin,
I walk through the fire where your “culture” begins.
I craft rituals from rage, rewrite your fables,
I’m the voice of the erased, the shadow in the tables.

Slavery, genocide, erasure, repeat,
Your “history” a lie, a sanitized deceit.
I spit for the stolen, the silenced, the erased,
I raise my fist for the lost, in fury and grace.

I don’t kneel to your holidays, your hollow cheers,
I spit for the ancestors erased by the years.
I build my own temples from ashes and bones,
Every verse a hammer, every bar a throne.

I refuse your melting pot, your consumerist lies,
I see through the glitter, the flags, the disguise.
I am fire in the cold, blood in the concrete,
I am truth in a land built on deceit.

White? I am more, I am lineage unknown,
I am the scream of the rootless, the fury I own.
You sold me nothing but chains and confusion,
I craft culture from silence, from anger, illusion.

I spit internal rhymes, half-time, full rage,
Every syllable a weapon, every line a cage.
I spit fast as Ez Mil, raw as Shady at dawn,
I tear down your monuments while the people yawn.

Your “heroes” were villains, your history a crime,
I flip every narrative, one bar at a time.
I spit for the rootless, the unclaimed, the unseen,
I am the bloodline reborn, the rage in between.

I write my own epics, my own sacred lore,
From the ashes of silence, from the pain I bore.
I build from the ruins, I craft my own rite,
I am the rootless, the forgotten, the light.

I don’t need your holidays, your parades, your fake praise,
I spit in your face, I set the silence ablaze.
I am blood, I am bone, I am fire and steel,
I am the storm in the calm, the wound that will heal.

Every bar a confession, every line a war cry,
I carry the ancestors you left to die.
I spit for the voiceless, the erased, the unclaimed,
I am the culture reborn, untamed, unashamed.

I am history they forgot, I am blood they denied,
I am the rootless rage, the truth they can’t hide.
I am beyond skin, beyond the lies you tell,
I am my own damn culture—and I wear it well.

If you are interested in reading the whole series, find it here: The Slim & Shady Series

And if you just want to read more of my work, you can find that here: The Library of Ashes