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Image: Survivors Art Foundation

Poetry 10

Please note: The Survivors Art Foundation is not responsible for the content of an individual's work or related site, which may contain graphic or triggering material.

Submit YOUR Poetry to the Survivors Art Foundation


Robert Carreiro
gaamhaschool@netzero.net

“When I was a kid I was abused. I had very little friends and I had a hard time learning in school. Then I thought being in a gang was a good idea at the time. I used to fight with my mom about everything. Then I changed my life after I seen two of my friend died in a gang fight. I rite poems [about] my best friend and my girlfriend because they help me change my life."

    There’s something I gotta say.
    You are the only one for me.
    I don’t want anyone but you.

    You’ve changed my life from the bd to the good.
    I’ve never loved any girl like I love you.

    I mean what I say from the bottom of my heart.
    I wish I could see more of you.

    I hope I can see you for the rest of my life.
    You don’t know how much I love you.

    ©2000 Robert Carreiro


    In the sun light she is like an angel.
    At night she is more brighter than the moon.
    She is more than all the stars in the sky.
    She is my heat in the winter snow.
    In the spring she is a flower in a field.
    In the summer she is a cool breeze to me.

    ©2000 Robert Carreiro


Teresa Fryogle

"RN with RSD since 1995. I exploded my left lower abdominal muscle while repositioning a patient in Intensive Care. Ironic, huh? Disabled since then. Married with 6 children ages 3, 11, 13, 15, 16 and 18."

A View from the Other Side
by Teresa Fryogle

    In nursing school they taught me,
    To meet the patient’s needs.
    To listen to their feelings
    and watch for signs of fear.

    I thought I always listened
    I guess I never heard.
    The silent sounds of pain
    that speak louder than words.

    A patient may be smiling,
    she may even force a laugh.
    But beneath the laughter,
    you’ll find tears
    ripping her in half.

    You’ll never find the laughter
    if you look deep in her eyes.
    You’ll see that it’s been hard for her,
    maintaining this disguise.

    The pain a patient’s feeling
    might not fit onto your graph.
    You might not even chart the pain
    after all--you saw her laugh.

    She has no one to wipe the tears,
    she has no hand to hold.
    She didn’t want to bother you,
    she felt so all alone.

    Inside her body’s screaming,
    she just wanted to shout,
    but silence, was all that she had.
    The pain had worn her out.

    That thing they didn’t teach you,
    throughout your years at school
    is--pain has many faces.
    It doesn’t follow the rules.

    But now it’s me with RSD
    that pain that never ends.
    Its me that they are charting on
    with needs I must defend.

    Now I’m the patient not the nurse,
    I’m on that other side.
    It’s up to THEM to say it’s true
    that I feel pain inside.

    I’m tired of repeating
    I can’t say it all again.
    “It didn’t work,”
    “The pain is worse,”
    “Don’t make me try again.”

    I never know when it will strike
    that violent, burning pain,
    I never know if I should try
    to go out in the rain.
    I never feel that I could read
    that novel that I love
    Because I know that I’ll forget
    the words I read above.

    I really want to try and be
    the person that was me.
    But this RSD replaced it
    with pain you sometimes see.

    It’s hard to tell your husband
    that your skin can’t bear his touch.
    It’s hard for you to say it
    when you need him so, so much.

    It’s hard to hear your children
    tell all of their friends,
    they can’t go out
    they have to help their mother
    till this ends.

    They tell me I’m impatient,
    They tell me just relax.
    I’m tired of these limits.
    I’m tired of the quacks.

    I’m looking for a little piece
    of life to hold on to,
    that’s why USA gave me hope,
    even though it has to end.
    It made the pain seem far away,
    it’s all that gets me through.

    I know they may not hear my cry.
    But could they be that blind?
    To see the pain that I am in
    has overwhelmed my mind.

    I know they’re not the one in pain.
    It’s good that they can’t feel it.
    But when they nod “It’s such a shame,”
    That’s something I can’t deal with.

    If only they would notice
    how I wish they’d understand
    That this silence I am speaking
    is a pain that just won’t end.

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