A letter from a daughter to her father -not to grieve, but to remind him that love is still calling him to live.
This one is raw. It’s personal & confession: contains a couple cuss words.
It’s me... the daughter, the poet, the believer in second chances- speaking straight to my dad, the poet, the man who raised her.
He’s fighting the symptoms that accompany some in their late 80s, and maybe his faith in healing too.
But I still believe.
So this is my way of saying thank you, I love you, and please… stay.

Because healing isn’t just medicine. It’s hope.
And sometimes, love is the loudest medicine of all.