There are quiet days where everything feels distant, muted, hard to reach. And then there are moments where everything hits at once–fast, loud, overwhelming. Thoughts spiral, emotions intensify, and it becomes difficult to tell whether the storm is passing through… or coming from within.
For a long time, I thought the goal was to avoid those storms.
But the truth is–they remind me that I can still feel.
That I’m still here.
That I’m still alive.
This piece sits in that tension–between numbness and chaos, between drifting and grounding.
Because while the storms keep me aware… there are also people who keep me anchored.
And sometimes, that’s what makes surviving the storm possible.
— Rowan Evans
Even in the storm— something steady can keep you from drifting.
Storm Systems Poetry by Rowan Evans
My mind—
it works in weather systems,
sometimes the fog rolls in.
Other times—
the lightning flashes,
thunder rumbles
and my thoughts twist.
They spin and turn—
something cyclonic.
And when the twist tightens,
and the spin quickens—
I leave nothing but destruction
in my wake.
But I guess
you can call me a storm chaser,
the way I chase these storms—
searching for feeling,
just wanting to feel anything.
Because anything
is better than numb.
It’s a reminder
I’m alive.
Honestly—
I forget sometimes,
when I’m feeling
pretty robotic.
Life can get chaotic.
It overwhelms.
It can be too much
if you can’t
center yourself.
You got to go
with the flow,
too—
even when the flow
is a storm.
For me?
That’s where the storms help—
they keep me aware.
To read me is to witness devotion in motion. My words are at once a confession and a clarion call, pulling the reader into the marrow of feeling, into the spaces most often ignored. I write not merely to be heard, but to transform silence into song.
In these lines, you will find the ache of displacement, the fury of truth unflinching, and the soft, sacred reverence for lives, histories, and moments too often overlooked. I bend grief into rhythm, rage into reflection, love into sanctuary. Each poem is a threshold, and I, the poet-guide, invites you to step across it.
To linger in my work is to be reminded that poetry can carry rage, reverence, intimacy, and rebellion all at once. That it can burn, cradle, and illuminate. That, in the midst of a world that would have voices like mine silenced, I insist on speaking — fully, vulnerably, unrepentantly.
I do not write for the casual reader. I write for those willing to see, to feel, and to recognize the quiet revolution of the heart.
Rowan Evans’ As Long As I Am Here – a threshold of rage, reverence, and unflinching truth in motion.
As Long As I Am Here Poetry by Rowan Evans
I feel like I don’t belong here— someone tell me, what the hell is going on here? In this country, I’ve never felt at home, only borrowed, only tolerated, as if my presence were a typo they forgot to erase. Every rule bends around the comfort of whiteness, every system a mirror that refuses my reflection. So my eyes wander, travel beyond borders, seeking somewhere my soul won’t need to apologize.
I’ve dreamed in subtitles, sung in borrowed tongues, found myself in stories written half a world away. From Seoul to Kyoto, Manila to Hong Kong— I saw pieces of myself reflected in their sorrow, in their laughter, their fight to stay soft in a world that demands armor. I learned reverence, resilience, how to bow without breaking.
But here— everywhere I look, I see injustice glaring back, and everyone that looks like me— they shrug, safely cradled in their comfort, pretending ignorance is innocence. They live in their cozy silence, while the streets run red and blue. Oh, what a lullaby privilege sings.
They say they disagree—with the way things are— but their words stop at their teeth. They choke on politeness, too afraid to disturb their dinner conversations. While others pull triggers, sign laws, twist truths— they watch, they sigh, they scroll past the pain.
And still, they point fingers at anyone with melanin in their skin. Black, brown—it matters not. The rot has always been white, colonial bones buried beneath manicured lawns. They call it “heritage,” I call it haunting. Their prayers smell of sanctimony and bleach, their flags wave like veils over graves.
But I have seen too much to be silent. I have wept with those whose names were never printed. I have felt languages slip between my ribs and settle like ghosts learning to rest. I carry the echoes of those who were told to hush— and I will not hush. I am not meek, I am not malleable. I am rage refined into song, grief distilled into gospel.
Do not ask me to fit your mold. I was not built to fit— I was built to bloom where concrete cracked. To speak where silence suffocates. To burn where others bow.
I am not the threat you imagine— I am the truth you buried. I am the harmony you drowned out. I am the daughter of storms, the son that rages, the poet of thresholds, the one who will not turn away.
And when they ask me why I care, why I rage, why I won’t blend in— I will answer: Because I am here. Because I have seen. Because to live in silence is to die in comfort.
I feel like I don’t belong here— but as long as I am here, I will not stop speaking. I will not stop writing. I will not stop breathing life into every truth they tried to bury. I may not belong here, but my voice does now— and it is not leaving.
If this piece resonated with you, you may also like:
WOKE Part 1: Staying Awake in a World of Injustice A searing exploration of staying vigilant in a world of systemic injustice. Rowan Evans confronts oppression and the emotional toll of resisting a society that labels truth as crime.
Slim & Shady: Culture Forgotten, Heritage Lost A rapid-fire, confessional exploration of feeling rootless in a nation that demands assimilation while erasing cultural identity. Rowan Evans confronts heritage lost and the emptiness of a melting pot that excludes the unanchored.
Slim & Shady X: Bloodline & Ashes A fierce, confessional lyrical manifesto confronting erased histories, whitewashed culture, and the silenced voices forgotten ancestors. Rowan Evans ignites a blaze of truth from the ashes of American lies.
Slim & Shady represents an intentional departure from my typical Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism style. While my work often navigates darkness, devotion, and the sacred intimacy of emotional intensity, this piece allowed me to explore playfulness, wordplay, and the rhythm of language in a more extroverted, lyrical mode.
The poem is inspired by the energy and craft of rappers like Eminem and Ez Mil—artists whose work demonstrates that poetry can exist outside the page, in beats, bars, and flow. Here, I experimented with pun-driven humor, internal rhymes, and clever metaphors, while still maintaining a personal voice and poetic precision.
Writing Slim & Shady was an exercise in flexibility and homage: to show that my creativity is not confined to one aesthetic, to embrace influences beyond traditional literary sources, and to honor the ways that music, modern lyricism, and pop culture inform the poetry I write.
This poem is as much a celebration of language’s agility as it is a declaration that my writing—while often dark, confessional, and intense—can also be mischievous, clever, and audacious.
Slim & Shady spins—a tribute to wordplay, rhythm, and poetic devotion outside the ordinary.
Slim & Shady Poetry by Rowan Evans
I’m slim and a little shady, but my name isn’t Marshall, baby. I don’t play games—I’ll show you, you’re all that matters (Mathers), maybe.
I spit bars like Morse code, dots and dashes tracing your pulse in secret mode. A pun dealer, word-wrangler, lyricist on call, my syllables hit harder than a heavyweight in a brawl.
I walk in soles, not just with souls, kickin’ rhymes while your world rolls. License to rhyme, no paperwork filed, parking my wit in your mind, untamed and wild.
Cupid called—he wants his arrows back, I said “Sorry, they’re trapped in a pun-packed stack.” Knight of puns, Queen of quips, cocktails of cleverness sliding to your lips.
I rhyme in circles, loop devotion, heart stuck on repeat in clever-motion. “You love me,” you say—I hear: “I’ll pun your heart like it’s fresh veneer.”
I swing metaphors like a playground sword, hyperboles armed, similes stored. Shady? Maybe. Slim? Of course. I bend words like rivers, a linguistic force.
I’m the mixtape of thought you didn’t know you needed, the chorus of chaos, perfectly seeded. I spit fire, not smoke—incendiary lines, crossword puzzle heart, riddled in signs.
Your laugh? A semicolon in my sentence— pause, breath, then back to my pence. Double meanings double the fun, like two-step lyrics under the pun-sun.
I slide in rhymes, slicker than gel, tongue-tied labyrinth, I’ll never fail. Slim, shady, sly, not Marshall but true, I pun my devotion, spelling it out for you.
I’m the vinyl scratch in your mental groove, the hidden hook you never saw move. I take your name, make it rhyme, and spin, pun-demic heart—welcome, come on in.
Journey in the Hexverse
Feral Cathedral— Hex Nightshade Dive into the raw, feral worship of desire in Feral Cathedral. A hymn to hunger, chaos, and devotion—where teeth, breath, and pulse become sacred.
Gold in Open Hands— Rowan Evans A quiet liturgy for those who give without spectacle, who hold the weight of others’ lives tenderly, scattering hope like seeds and crafting a sanctuary in the cracks of the world.
Through the Shattered Glass— B.D. Nightshade Enter the mind of a fractured soul, piecing together the aftermath of a night shrouded in blood and memory. Fragments of self, shadowed actions, and haunting reflections collide—leaving only one question: What have I done?
Every word I write is a devotion, a fragment of shadow and light carefully shaped into verse. On my Ko-fi, I offer custom poems, personalized rituals in language, and lyrical messages crafted just for you—or someone you wish to honor, surprise, or remember.
Whether you seek:
A poem for a loved one, friend, or muse
A ritualized or thematic verse for special occasions
A written reflection to say everything you struggle to
…each commission is approached with care, reverence, and the intensity of my signature Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism.
✨ Special Offer:Use code NGCR25 at checkout to receive 25% off any commission until the end of the month. Let these words become your keepsake, your offering, your moment of devotion.
Poetry by Rowan Evans 