anxiety

The Unspoken Question of Worth

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
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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 speak without the varnish of social grace,
And the truth, though gently offered, can still be
Mistaken for bluntness, a candor that drives them out.
What is it? A flaw I cannot place.

I don’t have many friends; the truth is stark.
My circle’s small, fragile, and often transient.
I don’t know what’s wrong, the fundamental divide.
While others form bonds, lasting and resilient,
Mine disintegrate like paper submerged in water,
With nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide.

I am a friend until a better one appears.
I serve a purpose, a stand-in for the interim,
A convenient stop until a brighter option’s found.
I am never good enough, always on the rim;
The comparison is the moment of my replacement.
I am the waiting room, not the desired ground.

I hold on too long, clinging to the frayed thread,
Stretching the inevitable goodbye, a profound fear.
My loyalty, my constancy, becomes a weight,
A burden they let go, holding nothing dear.
Sometimes I must be the one to let go first,
A painful, self-preserving, final tear.

It is lonely at times, profoundly I miss
The shared laughter, the feeling of belonging, deep inside.
But is it real, or the memory idealized?
A performance they gave, while they stood by my side,
Waiting for the true cast, the better friends to arrive.
In the lie of the past, there’s no place left to confide.

I will be there for those who need me to be.
My nature unchanged, I offer care freely,
A reliable constant, though never the primary light.
If you want me to go, tell me honestly.
Spare me the slow fade, the ghosting, the agonizing fight.
But if you call again, I’ll return without demanding right.

Cherish the friends who remain by your side.
Focus on the true constants, the precious, small few.
If some want to leave, let them walk away;
Their departure speaks of their needs, not a judgment on you.
Accept the impermanence, hold the good memories fast,
And keep the door open for the few who are true.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Tie Is Severed

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
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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 resentment,
The basic contract dies.

When ally turns to critic’s shade,
A drain upon your soul,
They’ve breached the terms of fundamental trust,
And lost their rightful role.
The choice is not of cruelty,
But self-preserving might,
To cast the anchor from the boat,
And step back toward the light.

Assess the ones within your ship,
As you begin to rise;
Not all are rowing for your cause,
Some paddle with disguise.
Your soaring ambition reveals their truth,
Their loyalty gives way,
As jealousy’s shadow clips your wings,
And clouds your brighter day.

So now I mourn the anchor lost,
The friend who pulled me down.
The feeling is no sad despair,
But freedom’s joyful crown.
A paradoxical, weary joy,
A wish that bonds would hold,
Yet still the weight is wholly gone,
A future to unfold.

The boat is lighter now it sails,
The struggle set aside.
I’m rowing, finally, alone,
With nothing left to hide.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Wait Your Turn

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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 we began,
Disconnected from the struggle’s rigid plan,
That harsh existence which our lives define,
While they stand above, on heights divine.

What they possess, we desperately lack:
The insulating cushion on wealth’s track,
Money that shields them from survival’s fear.
They wield the power that holds the system dear,
Shaping the rules, not merely influence slight,
And connections unseen, a web of pure light.

A network of favors, a whispered invitation,
Opportunities passed through each generation,
A resource worth more than all the sweat we’ve spent,
Yet they command us to be more intent.
They stand on their platforms, elevated and cold,
“Work harder,” they shout, a story getting old.

This directive is a self-serving slight,
A useful tool for a blinding light,
To justify their perch, so high and so neat,
To placate the masses, a narrative complete.
Keep us focused on the effort of one,
Ignoring the structures, the battle unwon.

But now we pierce the veil, we understand,
Too long we’ve labored at their harsh command.
Our youth and our fire poured into the drain,
For a system of diminishing, aching pain.
We know by the certitude of what we live,
That harder work will not be enough to give.

It cannot breach the walls that they have raised,
It cannot lift the life we’ve always praised,
Nor close the chasm wide that separates
Their world of ease from the heavy fates.
The meritocracy’s promise, their comforting theme,
Is a fiction, a sermon, a vanishing dream.

It is a sham, a lie both vast and bold,
A hollow pretense, a story bought and sold.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Unanswered Call

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

The Unanswered Call

The silence stretches, wide and deep, a space
Where my small ‘hello’ falls without a trace.
I check my phone, a habit worn and true,
A faint, false hope that maybe it’s from you.

The thread of connection, I’m the one who weaves,
The constant opener, the one who believes
That if I pause, if I just let it be,
The silence would grow to infinity.

I map the distance, gauge the growing gap,
And I’m the one who always has to ta
Upon the glass, the careful, gentle nudge,
To prove our bond isn’t built on a grudge.

I know your news, the triumphs and the strife,
Because I ask about your life.
I hold the mirror, catching all the light,
And listen late into the lonely night.

But oh, dear friend, a quiet, simple plea
Sometimes I wonder, do you think of me?
When the dark shadows start to close me in,
And my own battle is where I begin…

I wish just once, without a prompting word,
The unexpected check-in would be heard.
To see a message, a small, unsolicited sign,
“Are you okay? How are things on your line?”

To feel the warmth of being sought and seen,
And know I’m valued, not just a machine
For comfort given, always on the call.
I long to know I matter after all.

More Work by Nancy Ann Creed

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

I See the Phone

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
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The black phone rests, a silence made of glass,
A direct line across the choking air.
My fingers yearn to seize its cool, smooth mass,
To dial the number etched beyond compare.
A fleeting urge to break the constant drone,
To trade my heart’s loud drumming for a voice unknown.

Or I could message, try to weave a careful plea,
A sequence of small signs, an emoji’s face.
To message more, to bridge the digital sea,
But leaden weight holds me within this space.
I am a prisoner in my own inertia’s thrall,
Unable to bridge the gap from thought to call.

My restless hands climb to my weary head,
To twirl a strand of blonde around a finger’s tip.
A pull, a slow release, a mark of tender red,
Until the coil is tight upon my lip.
A meaningless ritual, a physical display,
Of all the mental turmoil that will not fade away

Inside, the engine roars, though I appear so still,
My heart a frantic drummer beating out alarm.
The air is thin, a breath against my panicked will,
A visceral, exhausting, full-body harm.
Yet, still life carries on, the sun’s indifferent track,

Oblivious to the silent crisis holding back.
And so, I do not call. The paralysis has won,
Against the simple, human wish to just connect.
I hate the phone for what it has become,
A terrifying chance of being now rejected

The pressure of potential, the awkwardness that lies,
Reflected in the fear within my anxious eyes.
I lift my hand again, to message in the night,
But corrosive thoughts poison the touch before it lands:
I am a bother, a shadow, an intrusive blight,
A need that only inconveniences hands.

A self-imposed boundary, a powerful, deep chill,
That freezes my desire and holds my actions still.
This cease-less fight, the heart that pounds and strains,
The hand that freezes on the tool for grace—
The manufactured boundary of “being a pain”—
This is the cage, the isolating space.

Anxiety’s invisible lock, a final, cruel decree,
To watch the phone lie unused, and never to be free.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

What Depression Feels Like

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
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What Depression Feels Like

The liquid velvet, soft and deep,
A wonderfully warm tide to keep
The soul at rest, the skin in grace,
A gentle, all-encompassing embrace.
It holds the sun’s forgotten art,
A yielding balm that mends the heart,
Sinking deep into the bone,
Where every coil of tension is overthrown.

A quiet joy within the chest,
A feeling wholly warm and blessed.
Not just physical, but a love untold,
A deep, inexplicable warmth to hold.
In peaceful suspension, time is still,
The outside world obeys the will
Of this sweet bliss, where nothing is near
But the gentle lapping of the heat held dear.

Then, a subtle shift begins to creep,
Disturbing the water from its sleep.
A whisper of coolness, a current’s sigh,
A quiet, inevitable tide draws nigh.
Down and down, the sanctuary falls,
The warmth’s core pulled through unseen walls,
A slow descent, the magic gone astray,
As the perfect feeling flows away.

Swiftly now the change is known,
A shocking cold, where heat was sown.
It hits the body, a sharp intrusion,
A sudden, stark, and cold confusion.
Creeping up the limbs, the awakening stark,
Leaving a chill, a profound, cold mark.
A sudden loss, a trailing dread,
As comforting heat has truly fled.

The final warmth is now withdrawn,
I lie in wait for the bleak, cold dawn.
The porcelain icy, the air is chill,
The once-magical pool is now still.
A container cold, and left alone,
A bleak and empty vessel of stone.
I shiver slightly, the memory’s grace
Of that perfect heat still haunts this place,
Wondering why such a feeling could flee,
And depart so completely from me.

A good friend once told me that this is how depression feels. I do not have depression. I have anxiety. But I thought it was an interesting metaphor for depression. I wanted to write it down to give some awareness. He said once the cold hits you, you feel like the warmth will never come back.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Outside the Frame

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
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The music starts, a known, dear beat,
A melody that stirs the soul,
With laughter mixed, both joy and sweet
Sad memory, beyond control.
A circle gleams, a happy ring,
Shimmering bright, with joy imbued,
The song they play, the joy they sing,
A vibrant, shared, harmonious mood.

But I remain, outside the frame,
The door to that bright world is shut.
A finished tale, a quiet flame,
A chapter closed, a silent cut.
A sliver of light beneath the door,
A path I know, but can’t regain,
Hints at the warmth, the joy in store,
A life lived on, beyond my pain.

An unseen glass, a silent chill,
Divides me from their vibrant grace.
I watch their dance, so still, so still,
A world away, yet near this place.
A footstep’s reach, yet worlds apart,
The nearness amplifies the void,
A chasm deep within my heart,
My name unspoken, unenjoyed.

My place is lost, the world moves on,
Unaware of the space I fill,
Indifferent to the path I’ve gone,
A quiet ache, a love held still.
A hollow space, where love resides,
But no more place for it to be,
No role to play, as time presides,
No part for me, for them to see.

So I recede, into the night,
From warmth and light, I turn away,
A silent watcher, lost to sight,
A specter where joy holds its sway.
A shadow faint, by love’s strong burn,
A mournful echo, soft and deep,
In solitude, I slowly learn,
A love I have, but cannot keep.

More Works by Nancy Ann Creed

https://books2read.com/links/ubl/mYM5Go

Feelings

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
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Feelings (When you know you are being left out.)

The laughter comes through drywall, thick and low,
A happy static I don’t get to know.
I’m in the kitchen, pouring out a drink,
And on the very edge of what they think.
It isn’t cruel, it has no pointed sting,
This accidental orbit where I swing.

The door swings open and the sound cuts clean,
A sudden silence wipes the vibrant scene.
A smile is offered, quick and paper-thin,
A pause, before the story can begin
Again, but different. Softer, and more staid,
A careful, edited version, newly made.

And in that quiet that my presence brought,
A frantic question in my mind is caught:
Was my name just a whisper in the air?
A punctuation mark they couldn’t share?
A punchline or a problem or a plea?
Was the last word they swallowed simply “me”?

There is no proof, no evidence to find,
Just shifting shadows in my worried mind.
A glance that might mean nothing, or mean all,
The way a friendly gesture seems too small.
I’m chasing ghosts of words I never heard,
And judging every single action spurred.

It’s like a hum beneath the floorboards, faint,
A phantom ache that merits no complaint.
For what is there to say? “I feel a dread
About the secret things you might have said”?
They’d call it madness, and perhaps they’re right.
So I just stand here in the fading light,
And smile, and nod, and never let them see
The terrifying space surrounding me.

Check out more work by Nancy Ann Creed

Maeve- https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd
Matthew- https://books2read.com/u/bzNZYj
Justin- https://books2read.com/u/mBKzLZ
Maurelle- https://books2read.com/u/bzN19D
Annabelle- https://books2read.com/u/bWqEkx

FREEDOM

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
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Freedom

The laughter used to echo, warm and true,
A comfort found in every shared ado.
But shadows crept, a subtle, chilling guise,
Reflected in their knowing, mocking eyes.

They pulled me close, a puppet on their string,
Each foolish step, a bitter, whispered sting.
My words unheard, my pleas just brushed aside,
No common ground where truth could safely ride.

A silent pact, a role I had to play,
To be the foil, to brighten up their day.
While in my heart, a heavy feeling grew,
A sense of self, slowly fading from view.

The tether snapped, a quiet, forceful break,
No grand goodbyes, no promises to make.
Just weary steps, into the light I strode,
Unburdened by the debt I felt I owed.

And now I breathe, a freedom sweet and deep,
No longer bound by secrets they would keep.
The air is clear, the path ahead is bright,
Released from shadows, bathed in my own light.

More Works by Nancy Ann Creed

Amazon Took My Books Down :( So, What did I do?

/ Nancy Ann Creed / 2 Comments

As I am able to get more books up, I will post more links. These are my universal links. I am just happy the Shadow Realm Chronicles is up!

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E-book
Birth after Miscarriage- https://books2read.com/u/bzN68n
Echoes and Whispers- https://books2read.com/u/4A6L1d
The Shadow Realm Chronicles: Maeve https://books2read.com/u/bzN689
The Shadow Realm Chronicles: Matthew- https://books2read.com/u/bzNZYj
The Shadow Realm Chronicles: Justin https://books2read.com/u/mBKzLZ
The Shadow Realm Chronicles: Maurelle https://books2read.com/u/bzN19D
The Shadow Realm Chronicles: Annabelle https://books2read.com/u/bWqEkx
Zombie: Survivors- https://books2read.com/u/3LMnQN
Zombie- The Sickness- https://draft2digital.com/book/3038651

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