"The Past Must Be Faced In order to Be Resolved".

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ABOUT DENISE MOYO

 Denise Moyo 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. She also provides a mix of  counseling and coaching  to women who have survived abuse as children or as adults and are in need of support and guidance in healing their pain.

Purchase your copies today

Poetry books, one placed on top of the other
Bars from a prison cell on the cover
A field and clouds on the book cover

BOOKS

  Denise Moyo is the author of

  • This Love is Like the Gitmo: Poems from My Spirit
  • No Longer Prodigal: A Collection of Poetry 
  • Pregnant With Words: A Collection of Poetry.
  • Out of the Water: A Collection of Poetry. 

      Available on Amazon and Barnes & Nobles

Work with Denise Moyo



If you are interested in working with Denise Moyo, or have her speak at your event  contact: 

dm@denisemoyo.com 


 

EVENTS

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POETRY EXCERPTS

THE INNER CHILD

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!

JUST A MIRAGE

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,

anything…

anything.




BYSTANDERS

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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