Boundaries

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 Tapestry of Poison

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
person holding red heart shaped ornament
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, obligation, hope that’s often through?
Why on the altar of connection’s name,
Do we sacrifice our peace to feed their flame?

If the outcome’s negative, why do we stay?
Why do we still do these activities every day?
The self-sabotage, the deeply set-in need,
Why do we torment ourselves by doing the same things repeatedly indeed?
A closed, agonizing loop of self-inflicted harm,
Where inertia holds us in its harmful arm.

But the moment of reckoning demands its due,
A crystallizing truth, unflinching, strong, and new:
Enough! I am done! a line across the sand,
The absolute refusal, a sovereign command.
To the source of the poison, the message is clear,
Take your toxicity and your self-righteous attitude and leave me here.

Leave me be, so I can move on and find my peace,
Grant me the space for wounds to heal and cease.
Leave me be and stop pretending you ever cared,
The charade of concern, its hollow core laid bare.
Leave me be and let me live my life as it should be,
Unburdened by your shadow, finally free.

My future is my own, not for your design,
Leave me be and stop pretending that you ever cared is the final sign.
Severing the chains of a love that was a lie,
Walking into freedom beneath a clear, blue sky.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

When is it enough?

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
black woman showing palm in light room
Photo by Monstera Production on Pexels.com

When is it Enough?

How long must the open hand remain,
When the other will not meet its strain?
The core dilemma of the human tie,
A painful question of loyalty,
Endurance, and how much self-worth you’ll spend,
To reach a silence that will never end.

How long does the title of “friend” hold true?
When shared history’s debt is overdue,
And the present moment is marked by cold harm,
Or the chilling indifference of a broken charm?
When does the label become a hollow sound,
A testament to what was, not what is found?

Is the sacred practice of prayer still right,
For a soul unconcerned with your day or night?
Does intercession become a painful toll,
A thankless rite for a disregarding soul?
The spirit’s commitment is tested and frayed,
By the walls of betrayal that have been laid.

When they tarnish your name with calculated lies,
How long do you absorb the pain behind your eyes?
When they won’t speak, a barrier high and stout,
How long do you knock before you turn about?
When they treat your existence as insignificant air,
How much can your spirit’s dignity bear?

The waiting is a sacrifice you choose to make,
A pause of your own joy for a lost past’s sake.
But waiting is a cost that drains the will,
A stalling on the path that you must fulfill.
The battle shifts from effort out to inward plea:
Do you still pray? Or is detachment the key?

Is it wrong to move on, to finally not care?
When self-preservation demands a boundary there,
Does moving on become a vital act of grace,
To win back your self-respect in this bitter space?
The heart refuses to comply, that is the pain,
To stop caring is loss, a required emotional wane.

Why does the guilt of leaving cling so tight?
A fear of failing the endless-giving rite.
The mandate to be patient, to forever yield,
While your own peace lies ravaged on the field.
Yet, being “the better person” has a true cost,
It means protecting dignity before all is lost.

When is it enough? When will it ever cease?
The answer is internal, the reclaiming of peace.
Enough is when the cost of staying makes you bleed,
When waiting becomes self-destruction’s silent deed.
Enough is when your own well-being takes the lead,
And moving on is liberation—a necessary creed.

More Works by Nancy Ann Creed

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd