loneliness

The Quiet Outside

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
person sitting on bench under tree
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The Quiet Outside

The empty space of connection, the gathering,
Pulses with a vibrant energy I only observe.
It hums with plans already made,
A detailed itinerary, a map of places where I do not go.
My position is fixed: outside. I don’t move;
I only watch the colors of the evening fade
From my window, a slow drain of warmth and light.
My world is contained, defined by sitting in the light of what I know.

The knowledge I possess is isolating, sharp:
That laughter sounds much louder through a wall—
Magnified by the barrier that separates their joy,
A painful noise. And conversely,
Silence is a heavy thing to wear,
A cloak woven from unsaid words.
It presses down, making breathing difficult.
So, I maintain a silent vigil. I wait for pings, for any word at all,
A simple notification, an anchor thrown,
To prove that, in their minds, I’m standing there.

The name of “friend,” I embraced fully;
We call them friends; I gave the name with pride,
A sacred title for those to whom I opened life.
I shared my secrets, listened to their own,
Believing in a mutual exchange, a balanced scale.
But now I wonder, standing on the side,
A silent observer of their motion,
If that foundation was solid. The crucial question takes root:
If I am liked, or simply “loosely known.”

A chilling suspicion whispers of self-doubt:
Is there a secret vote I didn’t see?
A quiet pact to leave the chair unfilled?
Or is the truth more passive, more insidious?
Or is the lack of room inside the spree
The consequence of slow emotional detachment?
It feels like The way a dying fire is slowly stilled,
The warmth receding until only ash remains.
The question I need to ask is too large, too sharp to utter;
It stays in my mind, a burning inscription in the dark:
Do I have friends, or people I just know?
Did I misjudge the reality of the bond?
Did I mistake a flicker for a spark?
The uncertainty is exhausting, forcing a decision:
Is it my cue to turn around and go?

The core of the issue is heartbreaking simplicity:
For if they wanted me, they’d find the space,
They’d actively rearrange the elements of their plan.
They’d reach across the gap to pull me through.
This is the ultimate loneliness I face:
There’s nothing lonelier than a familiar face—
A face I thought knew me—
That looks at everything—but never you.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

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 Unwritten Lessons of Connection

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
woman in black top standing beside wall
Photo by Pouria Teymouri on Pexels.com

The Unwritten Lessons of Connection

I lost the ones I thought would be
An immutable part of my life’s tapestry,
Woven forever. Their sudden fraying left
A hollow space, of laughter now bereft.
A loss not just of presence, but of promised time,
Of futures guaranteed, of permanence sublime.

I lost the endless, open channel’s flow,
The casual intimate, the profound talk’s low.
The message history remains, a silent tomb,
But the living dialogue has met its doom.
I lost the shared language, the inside joke’s release,
The easy flow of thought that came with sustained peace.

I lost. And yet, a nagging question stays:
How to reclaim it all through monumental days?
More honest now, a deeper query rings:
Do I want the fragments back, the broken things,
Or is this void an opportunity instead,
For a different, stronger rebuilding from the dead?

I am Socially Impaired, a deep deficiency,
No compass for connection’s subtle geography.
I cannot decode the rules that ever shift,
To make a friend, or keep one from the drift.
No knowledge of the delicate dance to start,
Nor sustained effort to hold a drifting heart.

The world outside, a dizzying, digital torrent,
Of career demands, and social lives hyper-currant.
My mind, a labyrinth of static and confusion,
Makes reaching out a Herculean illusion.
The busy world’s quick rhythm, my slow, internal pace,
Exacerbate the disconnect in this human space.

I am Socially Impaired, an alien I feel,
A non-native in a world that seems unreal.
Effortless for others, each social interaction
Requires exhausting, conscious translation.
Lost in this world of confusion, inescapable, vast,
The mechanics of connection hold me fast.

What proper alchemy transforms the passing name,
An acquaintance pleasant, into a trusted flame?
What ritual’s required to solidify the friend,
To confidant and pillar, on whom one can depend?
How to tend this garden so it thrives, not withers thin?
The vital lessons of these bonds were never written in.

In this struggle, I lost my authentic self’s deep call,
My unique longings muffled by the noise of it all.
Lost beneath the effort to be what others sought,
My own desires indistinct, in the battles fought.

I lost the subtle nuances, the unspoken art,
The reading of the body, the comforting hand’s part.
The effortless mirroring of mood, the perfect timing’s grace,
The tools that equip others to master social space.
Without them, I operated blind in the dense fog,
Lost in isolation’s self-doubt, like a log.

But then a tectonic shift occurred within the night,
The fog dispersed, pierced by an internal light.
The finding was no external, sudden grace,
But a revelation born from that empty space.

I Found a core of unshakeable strength inside,
No longer contingent on where others reside.
A self-sustaining power, a bedrock I possess,
To hold and to rely upon in times of stress.

I Found new forms of connection, soul-deep and true,
With people who truly see me, and see me anew.
Bonds built on mutual resilience, not proximity’s plea,
These are the conversations that will not end for me.

I Found a powerful, relentless love, not on condition,
A self-acceptance, a profound self-compassion.
No longer scanning horizons for where worth has fled,
I carry the source within, in the words I have said.
It is a love that will not quit, a permanent estate,
A fortress built from inside, sealed by my own gate.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Wall Within

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment

The Wall Within


A hundred hands may wave hello,
My circle stretches far and wide,
A glittering, expanding galaxy of faces.
I wear the badge of social glow,
A persona polished by years of practice,
With nowhere left for me to hide.

From all the laughter, chatter, speed—
The ceaseless, humming frequency
Of a busy, pleasant, surface life.
I move through it with practiced ease,
A master of the graceful pivot,
The knowing nod, the quick, witty reply.

I plant a seed of friendship in every brief encounter,
But plant no need, no urgent desire,
To share the fragile, intricate root of inner strife.
That soil remains untouched, protected
Beneath a carefully cultivated veneer.

I’m fluent in the easy grace,
The casual etiquette of the crowd,
The light exchange, the friendly art
Of keeping things buoyant and untroubled.
I hold my ground, keep pace for pace
With the energy swirling around me.

But with a discipline honed by instinct,
I guard the chambers of my heart.
They see the joy, a bright, unburdened thing;
They know the name, the accessible presence,
The quick advice, the ever-ready helping hand.

But do they know the private flame?
The solitary, almost sacred fire
That burns when the crowd disperses?
Do they comprehend the quiet wish I understand,
A silent vow whispered in the empty rooms?

This is a hidden wish for something more,
A hunger that the fleeting nature
Of nodding, quick hellos can never satisfy.
It is a desperate yearning to stand before an open door,
Not just ajar, but wide, welcoming the cold draft of honesty.

And let the chosen currents flow—
The true, deep rivers of thought and feeling.
It means taking the terrifying risk of being seen,
Truly and wholly, stripped of the social armor,
Embracing the profound fear of vulnerability.

It is the urgent, essential work
Of trying to bridge the gap that lies
Between the friend I am—the comfortable, reliable construct—
And the authentic soul I truly wish to be.

I long for souls with whom to build a sanctuary,
A trust that does not need the exhausting
Scaffolding of pretense. I search for the sacred space
To be fulfilled, not just busy, by sharing what I hold intense—
The deep convictions, the quiet sorrows, the complicated ecstasies.

These lie beneath the surface chatter.
I have the crowd, the sprawling, beautiful, demanding crowd,
Now I must dare the single, hardest act:
To drop the stone that shields the well.

To lower the defenses, to shatter
The carefully crafted stories I tell,
And let the few who truly care,
Those with the steady gaze and the listening heart,
See past the bright, easy narratives and witness the truth held within.
I want to trade the effortless multitude for the arduous, sustaining few.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Holiday Bliss

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
family decorating a christmas tree
Photo by Nicole Michalou on Pexels.com

The year turns slow, a measured, quiet grace,
The final, faded green surrenders place.
The frost begins to cling, a crystal sheen,
Upon the windowpane, a painted scene.
And through the air, a certain sweet note rings,
The hushed anticipation that it brings.
The scent of pine, a memory held dear,
The flicker of the flame that conquers fear.
The simple joy of calling out a name,
A bond rekindled in the hearth’s warm frame.
For in this season, when the world grows dim,
We gather close—the sturdy branch upon the limb.

The laughter spills from kitchens warm and bright,
A symphony of comfort, pure delight.
Reflecting back the twinkling festive light,
That chases shadows from the longest night.
The worn traditions, comforting and deep,
The silent vows the generations keep.
The treasured tales the passing years will house,
Whispered from grandmother to the spouse.
A mother’s gentle touch, a father’s quiet gaze,
The simple, stunning peace of family days.
We hold these moments, fleeting, fine, and fast,
A glowing anchor, built to truly last.
A tapestry of love in every thread,
The unsaid promises that are instead
Of grand pronouncements, simple, steady truth,
Revisiting the spirit of our youth.

Yet, in this clamor of good cheer and sound,
A deeper, silent shadow can be found.
For some hearts ache beneath the tinsel’s sheen,
Where loneliness resides, unheard, unseen.
Invisible the struggles, sharp, and keen,
The quiet battle fought behind a screen.
A heavy blanket where the light should bloom,
The suffocating weight of silent gloom.
A quiet echo in an empty room,
A whispered prayer within a sealed-off tomb.
The world rushes by with cheer and bright display,
Ignoring those who simply cannot play.

O Holy night, when love first filled the sky,
When hope descended from the heavens high,
We lift a fervent, humble, heartfelt cry:
For every soul that walks in winter’s shade,
Whose burdened spirit feels unseen, afraid—
For those who carry burdens heavy, long,
Who cannot join the general, joyful song—
May they know comfort, strength, and gentle rest,
And find the solace of a single, soft breast.

We open wide the door, the hearth, the chair,
A gesture pure, a message we can share.
To banish loneliness with genuine care,
To offer sanctuary from the chill air.
If your own light is faltering, low, and weak,
It is our kinship that we humbly seek.
You are not strange; you are not far; you belong,
Come share our shelter, join our welcoming song.
Let silence break, let every fear release,
And find within these walls a lasting peace.
May every spirit, broken, bruised, or sad,
Be touched by peace, and know they are made glad
Not just by feasting, bright and well-supplied,
But by love’s true grace that flows on every tide—
A safe, warm haven in this hallowed place,
Reflecting God’s own open, kind embrace.

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/ Nancy Ann Creed / 4 Comments

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pexels-photo-1339870.jpeg
Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com


I thought you were my certain shield,
The one true, steadfast, loyal friend.
A naive conviction, now revealed,
That you would stand until the end,
No matter the storm, the challenge faced,
Your full resolve, completely placed.

I sought a fierce, unwavering vow,
A pure defense, holding nothing back,
A perfect pledge, as you know how,
To guard my ground along the track.
A hundred percent, my only plea,
Undeniable fealty.

But that fierce certainty is gone,
A shattered faith, a painful lie.
I wake to realize at dawn,
I lack the worth that merits why—
I’m not enough, I see it clear,
To warrant that support so dear.

The wound of ‘sorry’ is a slight,
A shallow balm that cannot mend
The hollow ache of broken light;
It will not bring the hurt to end.
For others hold a higher seat,
They taste the loyalty I greet.

And so, the starkest truth remains,
A bitter draught I must consume:
To face the isolating rains,
To walk alone within the gloom.
I must accept, in every plight,
I stand completely by my light.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Unspoken Question of Worth

/ Nancy Ann Creed / Leave a comment
woman in white shirt wearing eyeglasses
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 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

It Hurts Like Hell

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woman looking at sea while sitting on beach
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 It’s imperative to know how important you are.
Many people think they are important, they put themselves on pedestals.

You think you can count on certain people, but in the end, you can’t.
Sometimes the harsh reality hits you, and you realize how insignificant you are.

Or that you don’t matter to the people who matter to you.
The people you thought you can count on, the people that can count on you.

That foundation you built, comes falling down.
It’s important to know where you stand, but….

It hurts like hell… It hurts like hell.