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To My 4 Readers: You Are My Ultimate Motivation

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

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 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 editors and handling all the behind-the-scenes production, putting your work out there isn’t free.

But money isn’t the driving force. If I had the chance, I would love nothing more than to write full-time.

By day, I am a middle school math teacher. It’s not physical labor, but let me tell you, it is an intense mental workout! A big part of my job involves working with specialized students and writing IEPs. Ironically, despite being a creative writer, that kind of rigid, academic writing and precise verbal wording is something I really have to push myself to do perfectly.

I often think about how wonderful it would have been if I could have been a stay-at-home, full-time writing mom when my kids were little, drafting chapters while they napped. But life had a different timeline. Now, my youngest is about to turn 13 and is much more independent. Writing full-time now would mean having the freedom to never miss a single doctor’s appointment, school play, music concert, or art show. It would mean being completely present for every milestone.

Looking Into My World (And the Ultimate Compliment)

Ultimately, those 4 to 24 people who click on my blog are doing something incredibly special: you are looking into a little piece of my world. I saw 4-24, and that is because my lowest view is 4 and my highest is 24. 

My biggest goal right now is simply to market more and help more people find my work—not for ego, but because I want to share these places and characters with the universe. I want someone to be genuinely excited about the stories I create.

In fact, you want to know what the ultimate praise would be for me?

Some authors don’t like it, but if someone ever loved my characters enough to start writing fanfiction or role-playing in the universe I built… man, that would be the highest honor. To know that my world sparked a flame in someone else’s creativity? That is why I do this.

So, to my dedicated handful of readers: thank you for stepping into my world. I hope you love it here, and I can’t wait to share what’s coming next.

More Works by Nancy Ann Creed

My Book Store
https://payhip.com/NancyAnnCreed

MAEVE
https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd


MATTHEW
https://books2read.com/u/bzNZYj

JUSTIN|
https://books2read.com/u/mBKzLZ


MAURELLE
https://books2read.com/u/bzN19D

ANNBELLE
https://books2read.com/u/bWqEkx


Carillon
https://books2read.com/u/38anZV

The Cost of Keeping Peace

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

The lines were drawn in quiet ink,
A map of “yes” and “stay,”
I feared the bridge would surely sink
If I turned the other way.
I held my breath to keep the peace,
A ghost within the room,
Fearing that my own release
Would seal a friendship’s doom.

I thought the cost of being me
Was more than they would pay,
That if I spoke, they’d turn and flee
And leave me in the gray.
But then the weight began to gall,
The “jokes” that left a sting,
The way they made me feel so small
While I gave everything.

So I stood up, a sudden flame,
And watched the masks descend,
I finally spoke my truth, my name,
And waited for the end.
They met my strength with cold disdain,
With anger and with slight,
They saw my joy as their own pain
And walked into the night.

And in the silence left behind,
The truth began to bloom:
The friends I was so scared to find
Were never in that room.
For if a boundary breaks a bond,
The bond was but a thread;
Of people who are truly fond,
There’s nothing left to dread.

If standing up meant losing them,
I lost a heavy chain,
A false and hollow stratagem
That only offered pain.
The ones who leave when you grow tall
Were never yours to keep;
It’s better that the shadows fall
So you can finally leap.

More works 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
ANNBELLE https://books2read.com/u/bWqEkx
Carillon https://books2read.com/u/38anZV


Navigating Emotional Pain in Relationships

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

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 was found,
Withstood the tremors for your troubled sake.
But now the space between us is a void,
A profound, echoing, desolate expanse,
Where kindness’s tender seed has been destroyed,
And understanding lost its saving chance.
Now only the choked vine of unyielding rage,
And your consuming need across this stage.

I’ve studied your map of pain for far too long,
Memorized the texture of each emotional scar,
Anticipating where the wound would throng,
An unwilling cartographer of your war.
But in that process, I forgot my name,
Eclipsed by roles I was compelled to fill:
Your punching bag, the target of your flame,
Your safe harbor, your shore against the chill.
But that era’s ended, clarity now bright,
I won’t be your refuse, your emotional blight.

The door to this shared history is heavy now,
Weighted by expectation and old despair,
But it is closed, with a final, solemn vow.
The work I poured is starkly laid out there—
Not as a failure of a loving mind,
But as an investment that was misguided, deep.
I failed no duty, I was not unkind,
I simply chose myself, the promises to keep
To me. I recognized the point of no return,
And in that closure, finally, I learn.

More Works by Nancy Ann Creed

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

What Depression Feels Like

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
photo of woman in bathtub
Photo by KATRIN BOLOVTSOVA on Pexels.com

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

I am Strong

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

lady in beach silhouette during daytime photography
Photo by Jill Wellington on Pexels.com

I am strong, a fortress of resilience
Forged in fires of adversity.
My spirit, unyielding, resolute,
Stands tall against the fiercest storms,
Knowing within me resides an indomitable will.

I will prevail, surrender not an option.
Each challenge faced, each obstacle overcome,
Strengthens my resolve, propels me forward,
On the path to victory. I am a testament
To persistence, triumph over tribulation.

I am powerful, not just physical might,
But in the boundless energy of my being.
My thoughts are sparks that ignite change,
My actions ripple effects that reshape my world.
I am a force of nature, orchestrating transformation.

My words can move mountains,
Imbued with conviction and purpose.
Architects of dreams, catalysts for action,
Capable of grandest endeavors,
Shifting stubborn landscapes of thought.

My words can tear people down,
A sobering reminder of immense responsibility.
The power to wound, a shadow lurking,
Ever conscious of its presence.

I choose to lift them up. This is my solemn vow,
My guiding principle. To use my voice,
My language, not to diminish, but to elevate;
Not to destroy, but to construct; not to break, but to mend.
My words will be a beacon of hope, a chorus of encouragement.

I am strong, a vibrant tapestry
Woven with threads of courage and grace.
My heart beats with the rhythm of endurance,
My mind shines with clarity of purpose.
I am a survivor, a thriver, strength blossoming within.

I am loved, enveloped in an embrace
Of warmth and affection, fueling spirit, anchoring soul.
This love, a precious gift, a sanctuary and a springboard,
Empowering me to reach for stars,
And share my own light with the world.

I am beautiful, not by fleeting outward standards,
But by intrinsic radiance of character,
Depth of empathy, purity of intentions.
My beauty emanates from within,
A vibrant glow that touches all who encounter it.

My words can move mountains,
Echoes of deepest convictions,
Reverberating with strength of beliefs.
Instruments of change, shaping perceptions,
Igniting passions, inspiring monumental shifts.

My words can tear people down,
A stark reminder of delicate balance,
Between influence and harm.
The potential for devastation lies
Within the very same tool that can build.

I choose to lift them up.
This is my unwavering commitment,
Etched into the very fabric of my being.
To channel the power of my words towards upliftment,
To wield them as tools of empowerment,
To sow seeds of kindness and understanding.
My voice will be a source of strength,
A comfort to the weary, a testament
To the transformative power of compassionate communication.

Insomnia

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
person in gray long sleeves lying on a bed
Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

Insomnia

The moon hangs heavy, inky sky,
Ethereal glow upon my chamber high,
Yet sleep eludes, my weary eyes,
Refuse to close, a restless guise.

My mind, a captive, thoughts take flight,
Like fireflies dance in fading light.
Exhaustion weighs, a heavy cost,
On muscle, bone, sleep’s promise lost.

I stand as sentinel, days untold,
Denied the peace, respite’s hold.
Day’s anxieties fade and cease,
Replaced by quiet, lacking peace.

A whisper haunts, a task undone,
A duty missed, a shadow spun.
This obligation, undefined,
A spectral presence in my mind.

It chills me deep, this unseen force,
My mind imprisoned, dreams divorced.
I yearn for sleep, a distant plea,
For rest that seems beyond my decree.

A captive of the night I dwell,
Eyes open, thoughts a swirling spell,
Until the dawn with painted hue,
Offers hope, sleep’s rendezvous.

When shadows flee the rising sun,
Perhaps release will then be won.
Until that time, I persevere,
A sentinel, in moonlight’s sphere.

More Works by Nancy Ann Creed

A Soul Connection, in This Lonely Space.

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
blond woman in black standing at seashore and seagulls flying around
Photo by Наталья Маркина on Pexels.com

The quiet hum of an empty room,
Aching with silence, shrouded in gloom.
A longing for laughter, a shared embrace,
A soul connection, in this lonely space.

To find a friend, a kindred spirit true,
Whose words bring comfort, whose thoughts shine through.
Someone to message, without a second thought,
Whose conversations leave my spirit caught.

To share the mundane, the dreams, the fears,
To wipe away the lonely, silent tears.
A bond unbreakable, a trust so deep,
Knowing my secrets, they’ll forever keep.

But fear whispers doubts, a constant refrain,
“Will I be too much? Will they feel the strain?”
The need for connection battles the dread,
Of being a burden, words left unsaid.

Yet hope flickers still, a tiny flame,
That somewhere out there, someone feels the same.
A yearning for friendship, a hand to hold,
A story waiting, waiting to unfold.

Guard My Heart

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
broken heart against a blue background
Photo by Stas Knop on Pexels.com

Or Guard My Heart

A familiar voice, a reaching hand,
A bridge to mend, across a wounded land.
But echoes linger, of pain and strife,
A question lingers, of a fragile life.

Should I forgive, and let the past unfold,
Or guard my heart, a story yet untold?
To trust again, or doubt the friend I knew,
A tangled web, where choices intertwine.

Can wounds be healed, or scars remain?
A heavy burden, a constant strain.
To reconcile, or walk away with pride,
A battle within, where answers do not abide.

Not as the Best, Just a Friend

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
Photo by Thiago Matos on Pexels.com

Not as the Best, Just a Friend

A mirrored image, warped and wrong,
Reflected back, where I belonged.
Your best friend’s face, a silly grin,
But in the glass, it’s only been,

A friend, one more within the fold,
A heart that yearned for something bold.
We shared secrets, whispers light,
But in your world, I wasn’t quite,

The chosen one, the closest soul,
Just laughter’s echo, taking hold.
The sting of truth, a whispered sigh,
Friendship’s garden, vast and high.

Though blooms may differ, bathed in sun,
A single rose, or one by one,
A field of faces, bright and kind,
In yours, a place I’ll surely find.

Not as the best, just a friend
Your best friend’s face, a silly grin.