The Same Hands Poem by kayanja isaac

the same...
same hands that caressed me
are the same hands slapping my face
molesting me
signaling me to hell
like am a time bomb in a shell

the same...
same lip that passionately kissed me
And called me the flower of the flock
have turned me into a laughing stock
Are talking ill of me

the same...
same span of my hips
and the curl of my edible lips
after which you ran like a native dog
are the same you run away from