Author’s Note

Sometimes, the quietest person in the room has the loudest mind. Sometimes, the person who seems to have nothing to say is trying to sort through a thousand thoughts that never quite finish forming. And sometimes, when someone asks what’s wrong, the honest answer is both everything and nothing.

Everything and Nothing explores the contradictions that can exist within one person: being observant enough to notice everything while struggling to explain what’s happening inside, feeling surrounded by beauty yet sometimes seeing only the rot, and having the spark to create without always having the fuel to keep the fire burning.

But this isn’t a poem that wants to stay solemn. There’s a paradox wearing socks and Crocs, checking a five-dollar wristwatch, and wobbling through life with questionable coordination. Because humor has always had a place beside the heavier truths, and sometimes the absurdity is part of what makes those truths bearable.

I may wobble. I may lose my train of thought before it reaches the station. I may have days when everything feels wrong and days when I can’t explain why nothing seems wrong at all. But falling and wobbling aren’t the same thing.

And if there’s one thing this paradox knows, it’s how to keep wobbling.

— Rowan Evans

Everything and Nothing
Poetry by Rowan Evans

When you meet me—
you’ll think I’m quiet.
I don’t say much,
I sit in silence,
with my mouth shut,
but my eyes are open—
watching, closely.

And when you talk to me—
you’ll wish I was quiet.
I’m way too observant—
I see too damn much,
and I hear just the same—
so don’t get mad at me,
when you get flamed.

But once you get to know me—
you’ll get scared when I’m quiet,
you’re suddenly afraid of my silence.
Because It carries weight,
everything I don’t say—
what’s wrong? You’ll wonder,
what’s on your mind?
You’ll find that it’s nothing—
mind’s blank, no thoughts in it.

But what’s wrong?

A lot.

It would take too long
to list every problem I’ve got.
I’m surrounded by beauty,
but sometimes all I see is rot—
lost my mind, where’d I put it?
I forgot—thoughts jammed,
so I missed the shot.

Thoughts move
but never get where they’re—
before another thought
cuts it off—
so it lands short,
missed the runway by a mile.

And that’s the part
that hurts the most—
when the spark is there,
but the fire is quiet.
The fuel is gone,
so you hope you don’t
have to reignite it.

So to answer your question,
what’s wrong?
Everything and nothing—
it’s in constant contradiction,
my existence—

I guess I’m just a paradox
in a pair of socks and crocs,
with a five dollar
Wal-Mart wristwatch.
But don’t worry—
I’m a weeble,
I wobble—

but I don’t fall down.

Journey into the Hexverse

[Through the Page]
A heartfelt thank-you to everyone who has journeyed through the pages of Rowan Evans’s poetry. From ravens and monsters to raccoons in silk pajamas, this playful, multilingual poem celebrates the connection between poet and reader—and the meaning found in sharing one’s art.

[Thoughts of You Have Prime Real Estate]
A playful romantic poem that turns the idea of someone “living rent-free in your head” into an entire neighborhood, where thoughts become homes—and one special thought gets the best property in town.

[A Person First]
A poem about the difference between loving a woman and loving the role someone expects her to play—because partnership requires respect, autonomy, and room to remain a person first.

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