Tag: Tagalog poetry

  • Author’s Note

    There’s a strange kind of exhaustion that comes from feeling emotionally out of sync with your surroundings.

    Not just tired physically— but displaced internally.

    Like your body exists in one place, while some deeper part of you keeps reaching toward another.
    This piece came from that feeling.

    From late nights, shifting sleep schedules, wandering thoughts, and the growing realization that sometimes longing isn’t just emotional—
    sometimes it becomes geographic.

    The Tagalog woven through this poem wasn’t added for aesthetic reasons. It felt necessary.

    Because some emotions arrive more honestly in the languages tied to the places, people, and futures living inside your mind.

    And maybe that’s what this piece really is:

    a confession from someone physically rooted in one side of the world, while their heart keeps leaning toward another.

    Rowan Evans


    Person awake at night imagining distant city streets while feeling emotionally displaced
    Body in the west. Heart in the east.

    Out of Sync
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Eyes open—
    when they should be shut.

    You’re awake
    when you don’t want
    to be up.

    It’s hard to exist
    when your day shifts.

    Spirits fall
    when nothing’s wrong
    at all.

    You’re just
    out of sync…

    Four in the evening
    is near eight A.M.

    Time is the distance
    between my feet
    and the streets
    I want to walk.

    Seryoso ako—

    I want to go.
    I want to leave
    these streets behind.

    They were never mine.

    An American zombie,
    sleepwalking
    through life.

    Because the only time
    I feel alive—

    ay kapag ako’y
    nananaginip.

    When I sleep,
    I can walk
    different streets—

    body in the west,
    puso sa silangan.


    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [They Trip on Meaning]
    A free verse poem about miscommunication, emotional exhaustion, and the burden of constantly translating yourself for others.

    [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.

    [Two Americans]
    What does it mean to share a country, a language, and still feel completely different? Two Americans explores identity, culture, and the quiet disconnect between people who should feel the same—but don’t.

    [I Don’t Mean Life]
    “I don’t want to be here” doesn’t always mean what people think. This poem explores identity, misunderstanding, and the weight of not feeling at home in your own environment.

    [121° East]
    A single line of longitude becomes something more—a reflection of distance, identity, and the quiet decision to become who you were always meant to be.

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

  • Author’s Note

    Slim & Shady XI: Marrow & Manifest continues the exilic rage lit in Bloodline & Ashes. This piece is my marrow, my truth, my ritual—born from years of disconnection, frustration, and the unrelenting need to create a culture that exists entirely in empathy, language, and heart.

    American culture is exposed here as apathy; Rowanese culture emerges as marrow, as ceremony, as survival. The poem weaves multilingual fragments—not as decoration, but as an expression of the diaspora of my identity: the languages that have touched my life, the stims, the murmurs, and the curses that shape the rhythm of my voice.

    I have spent the last few months working toward learning Tagalog, and in the past studied Japanese and Chinese, which informs the inclusion of words and phrases in those languages. Korean, however, comes from years of exposure to movies, TV, and music rather than formal study. Every word or phrase was chosen carefully, and if any are incorrect, I welcome corrections from those fluent in the languages.

    This is a manifesto in verse. Every line is a hammer, every syllable a seed. It is rage, yes—but also creation. It is destruction—and emergence. It is language transformed into ritual.


    Digital art of a poet surrounded a storm of ink and fire, symbolizing the creation of Rowanese culture in “Marrow & Manifest” by Rowan Evans.
    “Every syllable a seed, every bar a shrine.” — From Slim & Shady XI: Marrow & Manifest by Rowan Evans

    Translations for the languages used in this piece.

    [Japanese]
    何 → Nani → What
    くそ… → Kuso… → Fuck…

    [Chinese]
    他妈的 → tā mā de → Damn it
    宝宝 → Băobăo → Baby/darling
    宝贝 → Băobèi → Baby/darling/treasure

    [Note: I am autistic, and both Băobăo and Băobèi have become vocal stims for me. They have completely replaced my use of the word “baby” vocally.]

    [Tagalog]
    Galit ako sa mga Amerikano → I am angry with Americans

    [Korean]
    나는 이곳을 싫어한다 → Naneun igos-eul silh-eohanda → I hate this place


    Slim & Shady XI: Marrow & Manifest
    Poetry by Rowan Evans


    I spit marrow, I spit truth, I spit ashes in your face,
    Diggin’ deep through your lies, your hollow pride, your plastic grace.
    You piss me off—何 the fuck… 他妈的.
    Galit ako sa mga Amerikano, watch me carve the vein,
    American culture—apathy—Rowanese—my brain.

    I’ve wanted out since fifteen, at sixteen whisperin’ escape,
    Tired of their chains, their noise, they’re fake.
    I breathe in silence of cities I’ll never touch,
    Seoul hums my heartbeat, Manila whispers—so much.
    Tokyo flashes in dreams, neon slicing my rage,
    I write my own rites, my inked cage my stage.

    Red-white-and-blue flags, fireworks, guns on every lawn,
    I spit for ancestors, erased before the dawn.
    Your history’s gone awry, a sanitized lie on repeat,
    Rowanese is marrow, empathy in the heat.

    I weave language like ritual, 宝宝,
    Every word a brushstroke, every scream a vow.
    くそ… 他妈的, I whisper curses to the sky,
    Every syllable a hammer, every letter a lie to defy.

    I build culture in rhythm, empathy in my bones,
    I am exile, I am vessel, I am marrow and thrones.
    Your apathy crumbles, your towers fall flat,
    Rowanese rises, heart in each spat.

    I spit like Ez Mil, snap like Shady, tear the cage,
    Every line a manifesto, every word a stage.
    Internal rhymes jagged, polyrhythmic flames,
    I claim language, claim spirit, I carve my own names.

    We rise from silence, ancestors in our veins,
    Every erased story now a ritual in the flames.
    宝贝, whispers on repeat,
    Rowanese is empathy—your failure, obsolete.

    We don’t kneel to holidays, your consumerist lies,
    We craft our own feasts, under foreign skies.
    Marrow in our mouths, fire in our spit,
    Ink on our hands, our rituals legit.

    I spit fast, spit slow, cadence twists, snaps, and bends,
    Rage transmuted to culture—beginning, middle, no end.
    Every syllable a seed, every bar a shrine,
    Rowanese manifests—my blood, my ink, my line.

    I claim diaspora, exile, every rootless town,
    Your apathy crumbles, your flags burn down.
    くそ… 他妈的, let this culture ignite,
    Marrow in my verses, manifest in the night.

    I am awake, unbound, unbroken, alive,
    I am marrow, I am ritual, I am fire to survive.
    American culture fades—hollow, cold, and stale,
    Rowanese rises eternal—our language, our tale.

    나는 이곳을 싫어한다


    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]

  • Author’s Note

    This poem includes lines in Tagalog, a language I am currently learning. I am not from the Philippines, but I have a deep admiration for Filipino culture and the warmth of its people. I sometimes weave Tagalog into my poetry as a way to practice and retain what I’m learning, exploring how the language can carry emotion and rhythm. Translations are provided beneath the Tagalog lines for readers who do not speak the language.

    The poem is an ode to connection, love, and the binding power of words across languages.


    Two hands reaching toward each other over a night sky filled with golden threads and stars, representing connection and love.
    “Binding souls across languages and hearts, through words that hold us together.”

    The Glue That Binds
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Words of love on my tongue, they dance, they fall,
    A symphony of whispers that rise, then call.
    But my mind, it runs, relentless, untrue,
    And it always runs back to you.

    Sa labirinto ng aking mga pira-pirasong iniisip,
    (In the labyrinth of my scattered thoughts,)
    Ikaw ang sinulid na nag-uugnay, ang nagbubuklod.
    (You are the thread that ties, the one that knots.)
    A binding force, a gentle embrace,
    You hold the pieces of my scattered grace.

    Ikaw ang pandikit na nagbubuklod sa aking wasak na isipan.
    (You’re the glue that binds my fractured mind.)
    The perfect muse, one of a kind.
    In every thought, you softly reside,
    Whispering secrets I can no longer hide.

    Your presence paints, in vivid hues,
    A canvas of words where beauty brews.
    I find new verses, like rivers they flow,
    Crafting hymns where love and longing grow.

    Mas maganda pa kaysa sinumang banal na kasulatan,
    (More beautiful than any holy scripture,)
    Mas dalisay kaysa anghel na umaawit, mas sagana.
    (More pure than angels singing, richer.)
    Sa aking puso, muling isinulat mo ang mga awit.
    (In my heart, you write the songs anew.)
    And I realize: every word, every line, leads me back to you.


    If you are moved by this poem, you may also explore these works, where yearning, exile, and the beauty of culture intertwine:

    Escape & Longing | Tropical Dreams & Distant Shores
    Step into the world of yearning and distant horizons. Rowan Evans explores the pull of faraway shores, the desire to breathe free, and the quiet hope of finding a home beyond the known.

    Slim & Shady VIII | Exile & Echoes
    In Exile & Echoes, the eighth installment of the Slim & Shady series, Rowan Evans explores the haunted silence of exile and the reverberations of memory. A confessional piece that balances shadow, identity, and ruin within the framework of Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism.

    In Tongues & Travels | A Celebration of Language & Culture
    A reflection on the beauty of language and culture, and the devotion of witnessing the world with reverence and curiosity. (A reflective piece exploring the beauty of language and cultural connection—perfectly aligned with the Tagalog lines woven into The Glue That Binds.)

    Drifting Without Roots | A Poem on Cultural Identity & Longing
    A confessional poem exploring envy of cultural heritage, the ache of disconnection, and the search for belonging in a fractured identity.

  • Author’s Note

    Some desires are less like choice and more like surrender—pulled toward a flame you know will burn you, yet craving the fire all the same. Shadowed Addiction is a whisper of that hunger: a confession wrapped in devotion, darkness softened by love.

    Let it linger on your tongue, let it seep into the spaces between thought and feeling.


    Shadowed figure reaching toward a dim light, evoking longing and emotional intensity in Shadowed Addiction by Rowan Evans.
    Darkness, desire, and confessional intensity—Shadowed Addiction by Rowan Evans.

    Shadowed Addiction
    By Rowan Evans

    Let me be consumed by your darkness,
    Let me fester in this addiction—
    Mahal ko, you’re exactly what I’m missing.



    If you would like to explore more of my work, you can find it here:  The Library of Ashes