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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: writing through anger

  • Again | A Poem About Writing, Reinvention & Leaving a Legacy

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some poems feel like introductions. Others feel like reintroductions.

    Again is a little of both.

    I wanted to return to the page with the accumulated pieces of everything that came before it—the old selves, the old wounds, the confidence, the anger, the jokes, the metaphors, and all the strange little pieces that somehow became a voice.

    There are plenty of familiar influences and references woven through this one, but underneath all of that is something much simpler: I keep writing because I haven’t reached the end of what I have to say.

    And maybe that’s the real lesson here.

    You don’t have to get it perfect the first time. You don’t even have to know exactly what you’re doing.

    You just have to put the words down.

    Then, when you’re finished—

    do it again.

    — Rowan Evans

    A gothic poet assembles fragments of handwritten pages into a glowing figure at a midnight writing desk.
    Every version of me left something behind. I gathered the pieces, picked up the pen, and started again.

    Again
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Hi, hello—
    it’s me again, the poet with a pen,
    the poet playing pretend again—
    thinking they are important,
    back from the end again—
    st-st-stutter step,
    rewind, no fin again—
    lines running wide from my mind like
    the ink running from my pen again,
    feeling caged, locked in the pen again.

    Victor Frankenstein of rhyme,
    metaphors pieced together again—
    like body parts attached, hap-hazard,
    spark to the heart, become a light in the dark again—
    like different pieces of the Avengers assembled,
    the heart of Stark and Wanda’s chaos,
    mind of Vision, got me feeling incredible again.

    I built my confidence from a box of scraps,
    slapped together in a dim lit cave—
    and I did it all with this resting bitch face,
    in the middle of my dim-wit phase—
    I wasn’t wise yet—I hadn’t lived life yet.
    I was a human becoming,
    unaware they were becoming—
    a motherfucking problem.

    In ink and flame, I became
    a master of translating pain—
    and uncaging rage,
    holding on to the past—
    while continuing to change,
    I became every version of me—
    accumulated pieces, every rung on the ladder,
    I used to be sane, went a little Madder—
    and that’s why I’m as crazy as the Hatter.

    I’m a pre-planner—
    already wrote the epilogue to my story,
    I’m playing 4D-Chess with my legacy—
    I already know what comes next after me,
    so after I’m long gone—
    my thoughts won’t stop, no sudden drop,
    wisdom will still flow from me—
    like water from the spring,
    meant to bring new life—
    to teach you to use yours right.

    You got thoughts—just write,
    don’t worry if it lands right
    or if the rhymes tight,
    I’d be more worried—does it carry weight?
    Does it convey everything I want to say?

    Is every stone in the journey laid—
    every path paved—

    then when you’re done—

    do it—

    again.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [I Hate Me Better]
    What happens when someone tries to hate you but discovers you’ve already been doing it longer and better? I Hate Me Better turns twenty years of self-doubt, self-directed insults, and poetic resilience into a darkly funny challenge to anyone lining up to become the next hater.

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

  • It’s Almost Like I Know What I’m Doing | A Self-Aware Poetry & Writing Journey by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    It’s Almost Like I Know What I’m Doing is a little self-audit that turns into a flex before I can stop it.

    I started by wondering whether my writing had become too much swagger and not enough emotion—whether the ink was simply running free without anything underneath it. Then I remembered how long I’ve been doing this, where some of that rhythm came from, and why I learned to turn anger into cadence and pain into something that could make me laugh.

    Maybe the swagger isn’t the absence of emotion.

    Maybe it’s one of the ways I’ve learned to carry it.

    This piece is me looking at the machinery behind my own writing and realizing that the things I sometimes question—rhythm, rhyme, comedy, aggression, timing, and instinct—aren’t accidents anymore.

    They’re tools.

    And apparently, after all these years, I might actually know how to use them.

    — Rowan Evans

    A confident poet writing at a desk surrounded by years of notebooks as flowing ink becomes rhythm, emotion, and creative energy.
    After twenty-three years of shaping ink, maybe the swagger isn’t accidental.

    It’s Almost Like I Know What I’m Doing
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    It’s like my writing has become
    all swagger, no emotion—
    it’s like the ink is coastin’,
    like the edge of the sea—
    but there’s no tide to guide me.
    So my lines run free—
    sometimes that’s not a problem for me,
    other times it feels like it ends tragically,
    like I’m going to say some shit,
    and make people mad at me—
    but if it happens naturally,
    I’ll take the consequences, happily.

    When the switch flips
    and my mind shifts—
    I can feel the slow drip,
    emotions begin to slip
    and my thoughts trip—
    trip up and stumble,
    drop the ball—fumble.
    It’s only round one,
    get ready to rumble—
    this is a battle,
    a bit more than a scuffle,
    slide my feet—shuffle.

    I’ve got twenty-nine years
    putting marks on paper—
    twenty-three years
    as a real ink shaper—

    I’ve poured my heart into this,
    my whole life has been ink-stained—
    spent years translating pain,
    nearly thirty years,
    laying my rage on the page—

    it started early—
    I was maybe nine or ten,
    getting bullied back then.
    I hated the bullies, hated school too.
    Hated the fact they thought
    they were too cool—
    too small to fight back,
    but I could write—
    so I could bite back.
    Used my ink to launch an attack,
    went full scale—

    you see,
    I cut my teeth on bars
    and that’s why—
    my lines go hard.

    I started at nine
    learning the legends rhymes—
    y’all gon’ make me lose my mind,
    until even I’m asking
    what My Name Is…

    Never mind. False alarm.

    I found it—

    it was inside rhyming,
    learning comedic timing—
    yeah, I took the rage
    and taught it how
    to joke its way
    across the page—
    whether happy or in pain.

    All it changed is
    how I worded some things,
    it’s almost like—

    I know what I’m doing.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [New God With a Pen]
    A battle-poet power fantasy where Superman’s rage, Batman’s fear, Darkseid’s cosmic authority, and the Anti-Life Equation collide with rhyme, turning an ordinary pen into something worthy of New God status.

    [Lessons Without Kindness]
    A reflection on learning self-respect from a relationship that changed—the lessons hidden in manipulation, silence, and loss, and the realization that you don’t have to shrink yourself to make someone else feel tall.

    [The Sacred Timeline]
    From childhood stories about Dragon Ball Z, Power Rangers, and Pokémon to gothic cathedrals, ravens, roses, identity, healing, and experimentation, The Sacred Timeline traces how Rowan Evans’s relationship with the pen evolved across thirty-six years—and how the ink remained while the writer kept changing.

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