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

  For a long time, I participated in the Goodreads book challenge, a digital ritual where you commit to a specific number of books to read over the course of a year. Initially, it seemed like a harmless way to track my progress and stay motivated. However, over time, the experience transformed from a rewarding hobby into something that felt more like a demanding second job. Instead of finding solace in the pages of a new story, I started feeling an underlying sense of anxiety every time I looked at my progress bar. The quantitative tracker, meant to encourage, began to exert an unhealthy pressure, making me feel that my value as a reader was tied strictly to my output rather than my engagement with the material. The Numbers Trap   I used to use Goodreads' book challenge where you set a goal for yourself for how many books you will read that year. One year I was planning on writing a middle grade book so I read a lot of popular and award winning middle school write...

The Fearless Flight Take the chance at greatness, a choice for all, Be willing to reach, to answer the call. See what reserves within your spirit lie, Of strength and grace beneath the open sky. Commit to the dream, take the fearless flight, Forward with conviction, leaving behind the night. Hesitation is the foe of every deed, By fearing failure, planting doubt's cold seed. You'll never know the heights you could attain, The monuments you'd build through sun and rain. The touch of courage, how it might inspire, A beacon lit by your own brave fire. Embrace the call: Take the chance once more, See what you can do without a shore. Take the challenge, soar upon the breeze, Let past regrets dissolve with newfound ease. Don't look behind; the future lies ahead, Just keep the onward path and be well-led. Belief and grit define the way we go, The goals you set, the success you will know. Though failure whispers—part of learning's art— Do not let that dark shad...

  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...