Grief lives with me,
Grief lives within me,
Grief refuses to leave me,
Yet, he is not my friend!
Grief knows me by name,
He knows where I live,
He knows my family and friends,
Yet, he is not my friend!
Grief knows where I go to play,
He knows where I go to pray,
He knows where I go every single day,
Yet, he is not my friend!
Grief knows when I am happy,
Grief knows when I am sad,
Grief knows when I am worried,
Yet, he is not my friend!
Grief sits with me in silence,
He sits with me in the dark,
He sits with me in my secret place,
Yet, he is not my friend!
Grief sits with me in the rain,
He sits with me in the sunshine,
He sits next to me like an old friend in a bar,
Yet, he is not my friend
Grief dances with me,
Grief laughs with me,
Grief smiles with me,
Yet, he is not my friend!
Grief has eyes only for me,
He never lies about his intentions,
He never lies about his whereabouts,
Yet, he is not my friend!
Grief knows when I need a hug,
He knows when I need to breathe,
He knows when I need to vent,
Yet, he is not my friend!
Grief loves me, in his own way,
Grief cares about me, in his own way,
Grief is always there for me, in his own way,
Yet, he is not my friend!
Grief listens when I talk,
He hums along when I sing,
He ululates when I dance,
Yet, he is not my friend!
Grief is that familiar face in a crowd full of strangers.
He is the voice that calls out when I have lost my way,
the long-lost frenemy who can never help
me find my way home,
Yet, he is not my friend!
Grief demands to be felt at odd times,
Grief does not want to be ignored,
Grief insists on being the centre of my existence,
That is exactly why he is not my friend!
Buhlebenkosi Tshabangu-Moyo is a Zimbabwean Feminist and blogger. She is navigating grief and finds solace in writing. She constantly seeks little pockets of happiness wherever they may be found. She has a #HappinessCorner, where she goes to breathe. Buhlebenkosi is happiest when she is dancing. When she sits down long enough to write, she shares her thoughts on buhlematsha.wordpress.com. Her most favourite memory is of her late father reading to her in the 1980s.