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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: vulnerability poem

  • Beneath the Surface | A Poem About Deep Connection and Vulnerability

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece comes from a place of wanting more than surface-level connection.

    It’s easy to exist in spaces where we show only what’s safe–what’s presentable, what won’t be questioned too deeply. But I’ve always been drawn to what lives underneath that. The quiet parts. The complicated parts. The things people carry but don’t always speak out loud.

    This poem isn’t just about seeing someone–it’s about being trusted with what’s beneath the surface. The scars, the thoughts, the moments that shaped them in ways the world doesn’t always get to witness.

    There’s a kind of intimacy in that. Not in fixing or changing someone, but in understanding them. In holding space for everything they are, even the parts that feel hidden or unfinished.

    At its core, this piece is about connection–not the easy kind, but the kind that asks you to slow down, to listen, and to see someone fully.

    And maybe, to be seen the same way.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person standing at the edge of water with a glowing emotional world beneath the surface representing vulnerability and depth
    The surface is safe—but the truth lives beneath it.

    Beneath the Surface
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Why are so many okay with
    settling at the surface?
    I want to dig deeper—
    get to the core of you.

    See where the roots lie,
    the ties that bind—
    let me see the universe
    behind your eyes.

    Windows to a galaxy
    all your own
    and I want to call,
    at least one of those worlds—
    my home.

    Let me go beyond
    what the eyes can see,
    let me peer within,
    let your soul breathe.

    Take a breath,
    relax.

    I just want to know—
    I want to see the essence,
    the truth,
    And all of the scars
    you don’t disclose.

    I want to hear the stories
    of the battles fought,
    the wars waged
    in silent thought.

    The ones
    nobody else knew—
    I want to help mend
    the fractures in you.

    The surface is safe,
    but I want the depths,
    the places
    where your heart has wept.
    I want to touch
    the parts untouched by light—
    where dreams
    and fears take flight.

    Let me see the storm
    inside your soul,
    the cracks,
    the pieces,
    the parts—
    that don’t feel whole.

    Because—
    I want to understand.

    Not just the surface,
    but every grain of sand.
    Every emotion, every tear—
    All of the things
    that make you real,
    that make you—

    You.

    Not the mask,
    not the show,
    But the truth
    you often don’t show.
    I want to see—
    to feel,
    and to know.

    The beautiful chaos
    that makes you whole.

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

  • Learning Not to Run – A Poem About Fear of Attachment and Choosing to Stay

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sometimes the hardest thing to admit isn’t how much someone means to you – it’s how afraid you are of losing them.

    This piece isn’t about drama or desperation. It’s about recognizing a reflex I developed a long time ago, and choosing to stay present instead of running.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person standing at the edge of calm water at dusk in reflective pose.
    Staying is sometimes braver than running.

    Learning Not to Run
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ve been feeling this fear lately,
    it’s a heavy weight in my chest
    and it sometimes locks me down.
    It keeps me trapped inside—
    hidden away in my mind.
    It’s not that I don’t want to reach out,
    it’s like I honestly forget how.

    I don’t talk about it really,
    but I push people away
    when I feel they mean too much.
    When every thought
    begins to center them,
    and I see them in every dream.
    I know what that means.

    I got so used
    to people walking away.
    They’d hardly
    ever stay.
    So I learned
    to protect myself.
    When I felt
    myself
    getting too attached,
    I’d pull back.

    And that feeling?
    It still lingers,
    it’s a constant battle.
    I don’t want to be like this.
    But I struggle.
    I’m still scared to show
    too much.
    I’m too weird,
    I struggle to
    bite my tongue.

    I guess that’s why
    the fear still lingers,
    I’m afraid I’ll say too much.
    Be too exposed
    with nowhere to go,
    stuck in the open.

    What’s the worst that can happen?
    That’s what they keep asking,
    they say it’s rejection.
    But for me? It’s the end of
    the connection.
    And I’m not like this
    all the time.
    Just when I slip
    and trip
    into the depths
    of my mind.

    Now with a breath taken,
    no longer shaking—
    I write to you.
    Even knowing
    you may never see it,
    but I can only say this
    because you make me brave.

    You make me brave in ways,
    I don’t know how to explain—
    because you haven’t
    done a thing.
    But still, because of you
    I’ve changed.
    I’ve grown in ways
    I didn’t know
    I needed.

    And I won’t say it,
    even as it sits
    on the tip
    of my tongue—
    but what I will say,
    is this:

    You mean more to me
    than most,
    and even when I struggle
    to stay present
    in the world outside
    my mind—
    you’re still in my thoughts
    all the time.

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

  • Low Tide — A Poem About Silence, Longing, and the Question Unasked

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    A moment of hesitation at the edge of connection—where silence lasts longer than words, and the question matters more than the answer.

    A solitary figure standing in shallow ocean water at low tide under moonlight, surrounded by mist and gentle waves.
    Low tide reveals what’s been waiting beneath the surface.

    Low Tide
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I see you
    standing amongst
    the waves.

    I watch
    as you step
    and sway.

    Slowly,
    I approach.

    My mouth moves.
    No words come—
    until I’m within
    arms reach.

    That’s when
    my mind allowed
    me to speak.

    “What are you wading for?”

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