A note for you.

The world needs your
faulty guitar,
the one you still finger pick
even though its missing a few strings.
your hands move clumsy,
shaky,
but we need your music.
we need you.

My father, who calls,
does not call for me,
but to ask about your music.
'Does she still play?'
'I got her new strings, you know.'
He spends money he should be saving,
all on a guitar
that lays forgotten in my room.
I don't have the heart
to tell him you no longer play.
Because sometimes, I hope that one day
I'll wake up to hear you sing,
or produce notes in some other way,
because we need your music.
we need you.