“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.