Nancy Ann Creed

  Photo by elaf on Pexels.com Ink the Bleeds It is the quiet room I build at midnight when the heavy world is finally fast asleep, a bridge between the shadow and the sunlight, and a vault for all the secrets I must keep. It is a tapestry of dark and ancient magic, where urban realms and phantom worlds collide, a canvas for the sweeping and the tragic, and the truths we are too terrified to hide. It is a shield against the weight of long tomorrows, a way to capture light within the gray, to anchor joy, to give a voice to sorrows, and mold the things I can't simply say. It is the ink that bleeds when hearts are breaking, the steady pulse beneath a restless hand, the quiet art of letting go and making a world that I can finally understand. More Works by Nancy Ann Creed Ebooks http://payhip.com/NancyAnnCreed Ebooks & Paperbacks Maeve http://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Unveiling Secrets: A Journey of Heartbreak I once thought I was your confidante, That you told me everything, But now I see that I was wrong, That I was just another fool. You tell others things you’ve never told me, Secrets that you keep close, And I am left in the dark, To wonder what I did wrong. Am I not important to you? Am I not worthy of your trust? Or is there someone else you’ve chosen, To take my place in your heart? I don’t know the answers to these questions, But I do know that I’m hurt, And that I’m no longer sure, If I want to be a part of your life. The silence between us grows louder each day, A wall built of secrets and whispers untold, I watch from the sidelines as you drift away, Leaving memories turning fragile and cold. So I will step back from the shadows you cast, And guard the small pieces of heart that remain, No longer a prisoner to what's in the past, Learning to walk through the quiet and pain. More Works by Nancy Ann Creed Ebooks http://payhip.com/Nanc...

  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

  Courage in Chaos: Overcoming Anxiety Daily The walls are leaning inward, though the level says they’re straight, And the air feels thick and heavy, like a physical, dull weight. It’s a static in the marrow, it’s a ringing in the ears, A list of "what-ifs" blooming into catastrophic fears. The door feels like a mountain, and the phone a jagged stone, The mind builds up a prison that it’s crafted all alone. But the kettle starts its humming, and the clock begins to chime, The world doesn't pause its spinning just to give me extra time. So I breathe a shallow rhythm, count the floorboards near my feet, And find the tiny pocket where the fear and duty meet. It isn't that the shaking stops or shadows go away, It’s the shaking hands that reach out to begin the work of day. I carry it like luggage—bulky, frayed, and overfilled, Across the bridge of "must-do," where the panic isn't stilled. I take a single, trembling step, then find the strength f...

I must strongly object to the pervasive and deeply problematic use of militaristic metaphors when discussing cancer and the individuals affected by it. Phrases that have become deeply ingrained in our cultural lexicon—"They are a cancer survivor," "They lost their battle," or "They won their battle"—carry a harmful and often painful subtext. This war-like language, framing a biological process as a personal combat, inevitably implies that the outcome—survival or death—is purely a result of the individual’s effort, willpower, or "fighting spirit." This is not a purely academic critique; it is profoundly personal. My mother was diagnosed with Ovarian cancer, and she passed away when I was just eleven years old. To this day, every time I hear this kind of terminology used, I feel a visceral, sickening dread. The devastating implication embedded in these phrases suggests that to say someone "lost the battle" can be interpreted as meaning my...

  Navigating Emotional Pain in Relationships I built a bridge of patient, weary years, A silent span of quiet, chosen words, The mortar set with dried and vanished tears, A testament to battles, not rewards. My hands I offered, strong and open wide, To hold the weight of your erratic sphere, To stabilize the chaos you supplied, Yet only met a storm, a boundless fear. My effort was but dust upon the breeze, Against the wind of your profound unease. When your world tilts and loses all its grace, The guttural cry of "holy hell" defines The atmosphere of this abandoned place, No longer haven, but a field of mines. A sudden, unexpected fire starts, Consuming fragile things that stood its test, Leaving behind a jagged, broken heart. With cruelty, you push me to the crest, The edge of sanity, my failing might, Expecting me to hold while you ignite. I tried, desperately, to be the ground, The immovable foundation in the shake. I absorbed the shocks where steady peace...

  Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com The Serendipitous Message A flicker in the digital sea, A ripple in the ocean vast, Announced a message, unanticipated, free, A bridge to years and moments past. No expectation, no alarm, A serendipitous, sudden light, A warmth against the day's long harm, Dispelling shadows of the night. The sender’s name, a long-lost friend, Appeared upon the silent screen, A cherished sight without end, Recalling what had been. A powerful, unexpected force, Across the void of silent years, Washing away the quiet remorse, And vanquishing old, silent fears. A wave of joy, a deep embrace, Surged through the heart, dissolving time, As memories rushed, swift in their chase, Like a rushing, vibrant tide sublime. Laughter shared, a youthful sound, Secrets told in hushed reply, A core of trust that could be found, A sturdy thread beneath the sky. Across the miles that held them fast, The vital connection instantly made, The digital form, a vessel cast...

  Photo by Mike González on Pexels.com The Echo of Regret: A Vow Against Futility The shadow falls, a failure in my sight, Disappointment's echo, haunting day and night. Regret's cold hand upon my waking thought, A hollow dream, the battle that we fought. A profound, persistent ache resides within, A deep, visceral wound where grief begins. Each time the news arrives, a soul has gone, The numbers climb, yet tragedy lives on. For those now lost within the heavy fog, This deep despair, no fleeting shadow slog, It raises questions that torment the soul: How could we shield them, how regain control? What could I, personally, have done to reach, To pull them back, beyond the final beach? Why do such vibrant lives, with potential vast, End in this final, devastating, broken blast? The pain, a sickening, immediate jolt, A punch that leaves me breathless and unbolt. Another one lost, a cycle we can't cease, The repetition numbs, yet sharp remains the piece. A desperate cry...

  Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on Pexels.com Your Prayer Is Bound By Love When darkness falls upon a soul you know, And misconduct is the seed that they sow, When actions pierce the better self you see, And they depart from how they ought to be, A higher call demands your swift response, Beyond the simple bitterness of offense. Specifically, when they project their strife, Inflicting turmoil on another life, When pain and discontent are thrust outside, And unkindness is the path where they ride— And when their negativity is aimed at you, The target of the anger they accrue— The time for action is not a fight, But deep engagement in the spirit's light. The clear command is given from above: You should pray. Your prayer is bound by love. This is a prayer with purpose dual-faced, For strength to face the hurt that is embraced. Pray earnestly to guard your inner soul, For wisdom, grace, and to achieve your goal: To stand against injustice, firm and true, Lest roots of bitterne...

  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...