Rowan Ash
@creativelyradiant.bsky.social
Rowan Ash is a poet exploring medical trauma, chronic illness, and survival. They reject redemption stories for honesty, restraint, and persistence. Rowan writes for those who remain—not promised, but because they stayed.
🧵4/4
I am not a redemption arc.
I am not a lesson.
I am a person
who kept breathing
in a body that tried to turn itself off.
Still here—
soft enough to feel it,
angry enough
to stay.
I am not a redemption arc.
I am not a lesson.
I am a person
who kept breathing
in a body that tried to turn itself off.
Still here—
soft enough to feel it,
angry enough
to stay.
December 16, 2025 at 3:04 AM
🧵4/4
I am not a redemption arc.
I am not a lesson.
I am a person
who kept breathing
in a body that tried to turn itself off.
Still here—
soft enough to feel it,
angry enough
to stay.
I am not a redemption arc.
I am not a lesson.
I am a person
who kept breathing
in a body that tried to turn itself off.
Still here—
soft enough to feel it,
angry enough
to stay.
🧵3/4
Some days
I rest.
Some days
I rage quietly into my pillow
and call it healing.
I hold both.
I can be tender
and still be furious
about what it cost me
to be alive.
Some days
I rest.
Some days
I rage quietly into my pillow
and call it healing.
I hold both.
I can be tender
and still be furious
about what it cost me
to be alive.
December 16, 2025 at 3:03 AM
🧵3/4
Some days
I rest.
Some days
I rage quietly into my pillow
and call it healing.
I hold both.
I can be tender
and still be furious
about what it cost me
to be alive.
Some days
I rest.
Some days
I rage quietly into my pillow
and call it healing.
I hold both.
I can be tender
and still be furious
about what it cost me
to be alive.
🧵2/4
I learned how to speak softly
because no one listens
to screaming girls for long.
I learned how to smile
while fighting
for tests I already knew I needed.
There are fingerprints on my bones—
surgeons, strangers,
systems that took
and took
and asked me to be grateful for surviving them.
I learned how to speak softly
because no one listens
to screaming girls for long.
I learned how to smile
while fighting
for tests I already knew I needed.
There are fingerprints on my bones—
surgeons, strangers,
systems that took
and took
and asked me to be grateful for surviving them.
December 16, 2025 at 3:02 AM
🧵2/4
I learned how to speak softly
because no one listens
to screaming girls for long.
I learned how to smile
while fighting
for tests I already knew I needed.
There are fingerprints on my bones—
surgeons, strangers,
systems that took
and took
and asked me to be grateful for surviving them.
I learned how to speak softly
because no one listens
to screaming girls for long.
I learned how to smile
while fighting
for tests I already knew I needed.
There are fingerprints on my bones—
surgeons, strangers,
systems that took
and took
and asked me to be grateful for surviving them.