Nancy Ann Creed

  Photo by Khoa Võ on Pexels.com A Ghost in the Neon Hum City’s plus, a symphony Footstep, whispers, horns’ blare, Unseen, unheard, a ghost I roam. I drift through crowded avenues where life flows fast, A silhouette of a story, a remnant of the past, You pass by, thoughts afar, Never noticing the shadow rear, My name, once a melody, now fades, My voice is just an echo in the concrete and the stone, A quiet plea for presence, in a world I walk alone, Neon lights, a path aglow, Darkness cloaks, from sight I hide, Creature of night, moon and stars my witness, The electric haze illuminated the distance in your eyes. While underneath the starlight, my true self quietly dies, Did you see me, truly see? In memory’s weave a thread for me? Or just a ghost, haunting your mind’s edge? A lingering impression of a soul you didn't keep, Lost within the shallow world while I am buried deep. More Work by Nancy Ann Creed The Shadow Realm Chronicles Maeve E-books payhip.co...

  Photo by Mantas Hesthaven on Unsplash The Space They Left I saved a seat for you so long, I learned to love the empty space, And hummed the verses of a song That time and silence would erase. You used to be a steady light, Or so my foolish eyes believed. But looking back in clearer sight, I see how deeply I was grieved. For friendship isn’t hide-and-seek, Where I am always left to find A minutes' scrap within your week, A fleeting afterthought of mind. "Too busy," was the familiar refrain, A shield you wore to keep at bay The text, the call, the quiet pain Of watching bonds just drift away. So let it be. No anger here. No bitter words to stain the past. The view ahead is sharp and clear, And freedom has arrived at last. I close the door without a slam, And walk into a warmer dawn. I’m remembering just who I am— I’m letting go, and moving on. More Works by Nancy Ann Creed https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

  Photo by PNW Production on Pexels.com Wanting to be Known The threshold of the door is wide and bright, A circle gathers, laughing in the glow, And I am here, caught somewhere in the light, Desiring more than just the names I know. I see the surface, beautiful and clear, The pleasant currents where we dive and play, But oh, I want the ocean deep from here— I want to wash the quiet guard away. I want the late-night, sitting-on-the-floor, Unvarnished truths, the fears we never speak, To open wide the heavy, bolted door, And show the places where the walls are weak. I long for ties that weather through the storm, The kind of tether time cannot undo, Where sitting in the silence keeps us warm, And being known means being valued, too. But heavy armor isn't easily shed, And stepping closer feels like stepping blind. The words I mean to say stay in my head, While careful, safer phrases wait behind. It is so hard to pull the veil aside, To offer up the soft, unshielded p...

  Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash To My 4 Readers: You Are My Ultimate Motivation Every now and then, people look at the analytics of a small blog, and I read the report, and it says, “4” next to the blog. But to me? That doesn’t matter at all. The point isn't about massive, viral numbers. The point is that someone out there is genuinely interested in my work. When I look at those numbers, I don't see a small statistic—I see real individuals who chose to take a few minutes out of their busy days to step into my world. Whether you came for the poetry or the stories, you took the time to read it. And from the bottom of my heart, I pray that you truly enjoyed it and that you want to read more. The Reality of the Writing Dream We’ve all heard the complaints in the writing community: "I'm just not making a lot of money doing this." And sure, of course I want to sell books! Writing is an investment. Between hiring professional ed...

  The quest to secure a literary agent often feels akin to a mythological challenge: a near-impossible task of trying to bottle lightning while simultaneously navigating a densely packed, competitive marketplace. My personal journey with The Shadow Realm Chronicles has been a crucible forged in a potent mix of unwavering persistence and the quiet, persistent sting of hundreds of rejections. I have dedicated countless, solitary hours to meticulously researching agencies, poring over their submission guidelines, and refining my pitch to ensure my unique paranormal world aligns perfectly with their stated interests and visions. Despite this exhaustive preparation, the process remains an arduous, frustratingly slow uphill battle. This difficulty is compounded by the fact that I am attempting to find a champion for a story—a complete series, in fact—that has already been available to readers, a scenario most debut authors never have to face.The Unique Hurdles of an Already-Publish...

https://www.backstage.com/magazine/article/mask-in-theater-explained-77455 The Curtain's Cost I am utterly exhausted by this relentless play, The heavy curtain of performance drawn too long. I cannot hold the hollow smile another day, To mask the deep, the aching emptiness that's wrong. The burden of a self that isn't mine to wear, To fit the mold you fashioned, cruel and tight, An agonizing stretch away from who I care To be—my own identity, eclipsed by your light. You see a project, a design that must be met, But tell me, why must the authentic me be cast aside? I am finished fabricating reasons I have set, For every thought and every reaction I can't hide. I've justified my nature to a vacant crowd, To people who, I now accept, simply don't care. The painful truth: my hope was spoken out loud, A unilateral effort lost on thin, cold air. I poured my heart to mend what broke between, But found no shared commitment, no reciprocal tide, A solitary s...

  Photo by Eric Goverde on Pexels.com The jarring, insistent shriek, An alarm clock's metallic cry, Assaults the fragile morning's peace, A painful echo in the sky Of my dark skull. I groan, a sound Instantly swallowed by the deep, Heavy silence all around, I try to meld back into sleep. A cruel hand pulls, a rhythmic beat, From sleep's warm, velvet, soft embrace, It snatches me, with sudden heat, And leaves my heart against my face. My eyes fly open, dark and blank, Staring up at the ceiling's shade, My body, safe within the bank Of blankets, a fortress I have made. But now the cold kiss starts to creep, A sharp, unwelcome morning chill, That pricks the skin I cannot keep Beneath the covers, lying still. With weariness, I fight the day, The first act: pull the fabric high, To hide, to make the light away, And plunge into a private sky. No. It can't possibly be now, Time is a thief that steals the night, I want to vanish, somehow, From all the expectations ...

  The Wall Within A hundred hands may wave hello, My circle stretches far and wide, A glittering, expanding galaxy of faces. I wear the badge of social glow, A persona polished by years of practice, With nowhere left for me to hide. From all the laughter, chatter, speed— The ceaseless, humming frequency Of a busy, pleasant, surface life. I move through it with practiced ease, A master of the graceful pivot, The knowing nod, the quick, witty reply. I plant a seed of friendship in every brief encounter, But plant no need, no urgent desire, To share the fragile, intricate root of inner strife. That soil remains untouched, protected Beneath a carefully cultivated veneer. I’m fluent in the easy grace, The casual etiquette of the crowd, The light exchange, the friendly art Of keeping things buoyant and untroubled. I hold my ground, keep pace for pace With the energy swirling around me. But with a discipline honed by instinct, I guard the chambers of my heart. They see the joy, ...

  Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com The Tapestry of Poison The tapestry of life has threads of gloom, Where toxic darkness drains the spirit's bloom. Some things in life are toxic, subtly sly, Environments that stifle, habits that deny Our health, or institutions built on lies— The silent poisons that before us rise. As harmful are the ties that bring us pain, Some people in life who are toxic, they remain Emotional vampires, constant critics cold, Passive aggressors, stories to be told Of manipulation, thriving on the storm, Suffocating potential, leaving us worn. Beyond the things and people we may face, Some activities are toxic in this space. The compulsions offering distraction's grace, But long-term regret we cannot erase: The relentless pursuit, the endless scroll, The cycles that entrap and take their toll. So why do we still use these things we know? Is it comfort, fear, or letting inertia grow? And why do we still talk to these people too? Is it guilt, ...

  Photo by Ismael Sánchez on Pexels.com I am broken. The words, sharp and unwarranted, slice through the fragile shell I built. Tiny, invisible blades, their power immense, carving my heart into scattered, irreparable pieces. My carefully constructed dreams, ambitious plans, vital goals— all crumble before this onslaught, a lifetime of building reduced to dust. My essence, fractured, lies on the cold floor. Why do these ephemeral sounds, mere vibrations in the air, hurt so? Why grant them such devastating power, to tear the fabric of our being, to leave us utterly immobilized? With a deep, shuddering breath, I rise. Muscles protest, heavy with despair. I kneel, picking mangled, bleeding pieces from the unforgiving floor, cradling the remnants, a silent cry. I try, with feverish intensity, to mend— reaching for glue, tape, harsh staples. But none of them hold. The cracks are too deep, the breaks too fundamental. A heart shattered by words cannot be fixed by physical objects...