DenisMoyo was born in Zimbabwe. She graduated from Boston University and is a licensed clinical social worker and licensed applied behavior analyst. Denise Moyo uses poetry and music to speak about God, issues of trauma and emotional pain, as well as many other different topics. Her poetry is presented in a way that is prayerful, transformative and healing.
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Desperate for a helping hand,
lost in the absence of empathy—
desperate measures are taken
just to check if the world has eyes that see,
because it goes on blind
to the suffering the child is facing.
Great heights are traveled,
destructive steps taken,
just to check if the world still has a pulse,
because it carries on unresponsive—
indifferent to the child’s pleas for help.
Displays of desperation turned inside out
become the way the inner child
verifies its liveliness,
causing further harm to the person.
“See me!” demands the child inside.
“Am I alive? Can anyone see me?
Notice the hurt, notice my pain!”
To a damaged spirit,
one’s existence and worth are only realized
when acknowledged by other people.
It’s so easy for the child inside to get lost,
searching for evidence of its own heartbeat,
for proof of life.
Often ending up stuck in avalanches of shame,
with masses pointing fingers.
In a twisted way, finally, a confirmation
that, yes, you are visible.
We see you; you are alive!
I went looking for myself,
or was I running from myself?
I don’t quite know.
But vodkas with a splash of something
gave me glimpses of the self I sought to be
and a courage I couldn’t find
or cultivate otherwise.
Only, those glimpses,
the courage, did not last long.
So often, I was left uneasy,
replaying the little bits I could remember,
with much trepidation
at what I could not remember.
Have you ever felt like you were just a mirage,
or an unstable flame, flickering in the wind?
Had you ever felt the way I felt about myself
and the world,
you would have understood
why I chose to drink my mind away,
day in and out, in order to find my true self
or at least escape the mirageness of my being.
Desperate to be rooted in something,
I moved from one addiction to another,
just to feel something,
The truth was always there,
sitting in the darkness.
You knew it was there;
I saw you laughing at my pain.
You talked about the sun,
the heat, and the lack of rains.
Not about what mattered to a little girl, afraid. Silence is not always golden,
sometimes peace is worth disturbing.
Now when you give me a smile,
I am never assured,
because I’ve gathered the truth
that when the darkness falls,
I’ll be on my own.
You’d never use your lips
to speak against my pain.
You’d avert your eyes,
pretending not to see.
When I offer you a smile,
know it’s just a gesture
and that you should take time
to read in between the lines.
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