Hands can still touch car window panes,
but the things that pass outside don’t always remain the same.
My eyes, when I close them,
are no longer greeted by darkness,
but the same lids, touch the same lashes,
and pictures of faces pass by and they are not the same.
My feet still walk, but they don’t walk the same-
When they’re covered in red Ugandan dust something comes alive in me,
but my feet- oh my feet- only touch white sandy beaches and the green grass of Michigan summer’s now a days, and the soft velvet feeling of the strands screams of mediocrity,
and my heart feels lonely all over again.
And the faces that I know so well,
they smile the same, laugh the same, talk the same-
but oh, they’re not the same.
And the hugs
and the kisses
and my bed sheets
and my backyard
they all look, and smell and feel the same but, oh,
they are not the same.
And my hands they still touch my arms and legs but my body isn’t even the same.
And my mind still churns thoughts, and my heart still beats on and on but somehow they are certainly not the same.
And the truth comes in slow and warm like African air,
maybe everything is the same,
and who I am is the one that changed.