If It Is Not Really You Poem by anasuya balla

Isn’t it sad that antiseptic words
(Words that smile slightly, even)
Can become all that is left
(As a jaded memory: maybe?)
of something
That was everything it was
before it really was

I miss septic wounds
That scarred and scared
Of lovers tiffs
That was not really justified there
I miss the tears that wiped the wounds
They say salt has its magic
Perhaps – but will it do?

Come back I could say
If words were mine
But words and wounds have
an action benign.
I could say come back
But what good would it do?
What good if its not really you?