“Dear Dad.”
I write this in every letter,
But you never respond.
Yesterday, a thought crossed my mind,
As delicate as a deer.
To me, are you still dear?
To you, was I ever dear?
Was I ever dear?
If I was, you wouldn’t have left;
You would have replied to my several letters;
You would have came back.
I wrote a letter, pleading you
To ask them in heaven,
To come visit your children;
To show that I was ever dear.
“Dear Dad”
Does this even work?
Ink, ran out;
Books, full;
Words, finished;
Me, given up.
I won’t say, “Dear Dad” anymore.
I will not say you are dear,
Because to you, I was never dear.