despair

The Curtain’s Cost

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

https://www.backstage.com/magazine/article/mask-in-theater-explained-77455

The Curtain’s Cost

I am utterly exhausted by this relentless play,
The heavy curtain of performance drawn too long.
I cannot hold the hollow smile another day,
To mask the deep, the aching emptiness that’s wrong.

The burden of a self that isn’t mine to wear,
To fit the mold you fashioned, cruel and tight,
An agonizing stretch away from who I care
To be—my own identity, eclipsed by your light.
You see a project, a design that must be met,
But tell me, why must the authentic me be cast aside?

I am finished fabricating reasons I have set,
For every thought and every reaction I can’t hide.
I’ve justified my nature to a vacant crowd,
To people who, I now accept, simply don’t care.

The painful truth: my hope was spoken out loud,
A unilateral effort lost on thin, cold air.
I poured my heart to mend what broke between,
But found no shared commitment, no reciprocal tide,
A solitary swimmer in an apathetic scene.

The loneliness, a constant, heavy friend,
A silent weight that settles on my weary chest.
It is an awful life, but if this is the end—
The price of being whole, of being finally blessed
To be myself—then I will pay the cost,
Choosing difficult solitude to rescue what was lost.

A burning, sharp anger now begins to rise,
A desperate need to shatter this profound pain.
But I know with bleak certainty in my own eyes,
That fury would be wasted, dissipating like the rain.

This crushing truth has settled, stark and clear:
Nothing I say, nothing I do or fail to be,
Holds any weight for them, for those who stand so near.
My voice is mute, my actions they refuse to see.

They are truly, utterly indifferent to my strife,
They do not pause to question what my heart endures.
My suffering, my struggle, the very pulse of life,
Is an irrelevance that their coldness secures.

I feel the urge to weep the entire day away,
To curl beneath the covers, let the sadness claim,
But reason whispers of a temporary stay,
No lasting remedy to solve this bitter game.

The torrent of resentment pleads to be set free,
A physical demand I check with weary hand,
Because the simple, crushing truth remains with me:
It will not change a thing across this barren land.

A complete despair now chills me to the bone,
In this cold context, in this life they have defined,
The heartbreaking finality I stand upon alone,
The truth that leaves no solace for the mind:

Nothing matters.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Echo of Regret: A Vow Against Futility

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
adventurer in majestic cave with sunbeams
Photo by Mike González on Pexels.com

The Echo of Regret: A Vow Against Futility

The shadow falls, a failure in my sight,
Disappointment’s echo, haunting day and night.
Regret’s cold hand upon my waking thought,
A hollow dream, the battle that we fought.

A profound, persistent ache resides within,
A deep, visceral wound where grief begins.
Each time the news arrives, a soul has gone,
The numbers climb, yet tragedy lives on.

For those now lost within the heavy fog,
This deep despair, no fleeting shadow slog,
It raises questions that torment the soul:
How could we shield them, how regain control?

What could I, personally, have done to reach,
To pull them back, beyond the final beach?
Why do such vibrant lives, with potential vast,
End in this final, devastating, broken blast?

The pain, a sickening, immediate jolt,
A punch that leaves me breathless and unbolt.
Another one lost, a cycle we can’t cease,
The repetition numbs, yet sharp remains the piece.

A desperate cry: What can be truly done,
When the tide of loss engulfs the rising sun?
We must find answers, a pathway to prevent,
A strategy of hope, with all our power lent.

What can we do, right now, with urgent plea,
To stop this cycle of futility?
They were too young, their promise yet untold,
A song cut short, a story left untold.

Reduced to cold, impersonal distress,
A public crisis we cannot suppress.
The lives they were, a silence left behind,
Deafening echoes of the best of humankind.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

A Silent Farewell

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
person writing on black board with chalk
Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

A Silent Farewell

I hide myself away, retreating from the world’s harsh light,
To hide from those I fear, the shadows that invade the night.
The whispers and the judging eyes, they pierce me to the core,
So I draw the curtains closed, and lock the heavy door.
I hide myself away, within this solitary keep,
A silent farewell for now, while deeper secrets sleep.

The silence of this self-made cell becomes a heavy shroud,
I cried myself to sleep, a soundless weeping in the crowd.
To hide and weep, my body shaking with the strain,
To hide and weep, to wash away the bitter, throbbing pain.
Each tear a wasted moment, falling in the deep,
As promises I couldn’t keep haunt me while I sleep.

A sharp regret now cuts the air: Why did I waste so much time?
Consumed by baseless fear, an unforgivable, self-made crime.
To fear what they say, the empty words that hold no weight,
To let their careless judgments seal my solitary fate.
I should have stood defiant, met their gaze with fiery pride,
But cowardice took hold, and left me here to hide.

Again, the darkness calls me down, the cycle starts anew,
I cried myself to sleep, until the morning filtered through.
To hide and weep, a ritual of sorrow and despair,
To hide and weep, a burden that my heart can barely bear.
This isolation is a monster, feeding on my will,
A self-imposed exile upon this lonely, silent hill.

But then a whisper rises, fragile yet defined,
A voice that speaks of freedom, leaving fear behind.
Open the doors, let sunlight flood the dust and gloom,
And hide no more, escape this cold and empty room.
Open the doors, the hinges squeak with long disuse,
And hide no more, relinquish every weak excuse.
The world awaits beyond the latch, vibrant and so vast,
A future built on courage, leaving shadows in the past.

I cried myself to sleep, a memory that starts to fade,
Wasting so much time, upon a path too long delayed.
Wasting so much time, a treasure carelessly set free,
But now the lock is broken, and the key belongs to me.
The sun on my face is a promise, clear and bold,
A new story beginning, waiting to unfold.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

I am Broken

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
shallow focus photo of woman s reflection on broken mirror
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

Again, the haunting question returns:
Why do I give words this power?
Why allow such deep, lingering pain?

Yet, the act of kneeling has shifted something.
I stand up, not whole, but resilient.
I place my broken, but still beating, heart
back into my chest,
and with a final act of defiance, I dust myself off.

The reality remains:
Words possess the power to tear us down,
to reduce us to rubble,
weapons that wound the soul.

But words are not solely destruction.
They possess the capacity to restore.
A single, well-placed phrase—
of kindness, encouragement, or understanding—
can be the foundation upon which we rebuild.

Love, in its purest expression,
is the ultimate healing force,
articulated through sincere, positive words,
what ultimately saves us all.

Words can tear you down.
Words can also lift you up.

Choose your words with the highest intention.
Strive always to lift a spirit,
to reinforce worth, to acknowledge a presence.

Never fail to be kind.
Kindness is the shield against the world’s harsh words,
the balm for its inflicted injuries.

Remember this immutable truth:
Words are a powerful, double-edged sword.
They can drag someone into the deepest pit of despair,
or elevate them to heights of strength and hope.

Use this profound tool with meticulous care.
Wield your words to heal, to encourage, and to restore.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Little Turtle

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blue turtles on brown sand
Photo by Jolo Diaz on Pexels.com
A Turtle hatches as it makes it away  
Out of the sand. 
No one is there, they have all left.
Running to the sea to begin their lives. 

The turtle looks back at the empty nest. 
Should I stay? The turtle asks. Safe and secure. 
Or make my way to the shore? 

Will they be there waiting for me? 
Waiting in the water?
Or will they all be gone, and  
I will be alone again. 

Safe and secure for how long? 
Or go to the shore, 
Where uncertainty lies? 

Will be alone again. Floating endlessly in 
The sea of despair.Â