Nancy Ann Creed

  Photo by Валерия Шкода on Pexels.com The Weight of Unshared Burdens I'm carrying a secret, One I can't share. If I told anyone, They'd be filled with despair. It locks away my thoughts, And shadows all my days. A silent storm inside, Lost in a winding maze. I'm afraid of what they'll think, Of how they'll react. I don't want to hurt them, So I'll keep this to myself. The truth could shatter bonds, And break the fragile trust. So I will wear this mask, Because I know I must. I'm carrying this burden, All alone. It's heavy and it's painful, But I know I can't let it go. No shoulder to lean on, No hand to guide my way. I walk this lonely road, Further into the gray. I need to find a way to deal with this, To find a way to cope. I can't keep living like this, With this secret weighing me down. I search for just a spark, To clear this heavy air. To find some inner peace, And ease this dark despair. ...

  Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com The Unspoken Question of Worth Am I a difficult person to be friends with? The question echoes in the lonely silence, A heavy query, weighted by repeated pain. I dissect each word, each passing glance, Seeking the flaw so visible to others' eyes, Yet stubbornly opaque, a shadow on my own stain. Am I too awkward, my presence a strain? Does nervousness stilt the practiced conversation? I rehearse the words, the balance I must find, To hold the moment, a calculated equation. But the words tumble out, a chaotic, hurried rush, Leaving the perfect moment behind. Am I too anxious, a constant, worrying hum? A fear of saying too much, of taking up space, Of simply being a burden, too large, too loud. This anxiety, palpable, a barrier I can't erase, A repellent field that pushes people away, Before a true connection is allowed. Do I forget to hold my tongue's sharp edge? I value honesty, perhaps too stark and free. I spea...

  Photo by Mariya on Pexels.com The Tie Is Severed I lost a friend today, A simple, heavy line That should descend like sorrow's shroud, A grief for what was mine. I waited for the cutting edge, The sting of sudden pain, But found instead a strange relief, No shadow of a chain. I should be sad, should mourn the end, The history we knew, Yet in my chest a lightness wakes, Defiant, strong, and new. The truth is stark, the choice is clear, I look upon the past: I am not sorry that it broke, I am simply glad at last. The severing was not a hush, But clash of will and word, A necessary, cleansing fire Where my own truth was heard. I stood firm in the tempest's heart, Refused to be denied, And drew a boundary, sharp and deep, With nothing left to hide. The lesson's hard, but vital known: Respect must be the core. A friend should cheer the victory, And lift you from the floor. Your champions, they must remain, To hold your spirit high, But when support becomes res...

  Photo by Abby Kihano on Pexels.com My Light A steady beacon, you appear, When shadows gather and I fear The path ahead is lost and gone In darkness where I walk alone. The sole voice of my reason's plea, The anchor of reality, When the world spins with chaotic strife, You are the breath that restores my life. A silent force, you bring me peace, A quiet, beautiful release. Let tempests rage and gales descend, Let the harsh winds their fury lend. Let towering waves crash on the shore, Threatening to consume all. Yet, armed with our bond's deep might, We will endure, we will unite. Unbroken, we will conquer all, Our spirit standing strong and tall. A lighthouse in the darkest squall, Together, we will never fall. While others scatter sparks of joy, And fill my days without alloy, Their collective light, a vibrant beat, Is not the power to complete. They give my life its rhythm's art, And cause the beating of my heart. But it is you, the vital source, The enduring love, ...

 Wait Your Turn Photo by Fabian Heimann on Unsplash Wait Your Turn They bid us work, and strive, and strain, They preach the gospel of grit and pain. The virtue of patience, a long-held breath, Wait your turn, they assure, until death. With diligent toil within the system's fold, Good things will come, a story often told. They hail the high road of academic might, Perfect grades, degrees, and the burning night Of all-nighters, leading to institutions grand, The path to success paved by a diploma in hand. The central command, the mantra they impart: Work hard, and success will fill your heart. But the hollow sound their pronouncements make, From a sheltered world, for goodnes’s sake. A place sustained not by relentless effort's cost, But by the legacy that was never lost, By exclusive gates and a lineage long, A privilege entrenched, where they belong. They fail to grasp the truth that grinds us down, The doubled effort just to keep the crown From slipping, just to stay where w...