Author’s Note

Pluto Farmer is a playful meditation on otherness, absurdity, and the quiet rebellion of refusing to contort yourself into someone else’s idea of “normal.”
Sometimes resistance looks like fire and teeth.
Sometimes it looks like space carrots, judgmental space chickens, and cultivating joy on a planet no one else bothered to visit.

This poem is for the weirdos, the outcasts, the artists, and anyone who has ever been told—explicitly or otherwise—that they don’t belong.
If “normal” is a box, I’m farming on Pluto.

Pluto Farmer
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I’m the twisted
insane misfit.
Outcast. Exile.
Certified weirdo.

The farmer
with a ranch on Pluto.
Two camels in a parked car,
elephants in jam jars—

gravity folded in coat pockets,
constellations mislabeled,
common sense left on read—

and somehow
I’m the problem
for not fitting neatly
into their tiny little box
called “normal.”

So I—
just spend
my time,
cultivating—
space carrots,
raising space cows,
milking starlight,
counting moons like loose change,
gathering space eggs
from suspiciously judgmental
space chickens.

“Oh my god, you’re wearing that? Ew, what the—b-GAWK?!”

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