save the praise and

“appreciate you for holding it down”

i didn’t ask for words

that don’t wipe the sweat off my brow

a spoken thanks

ain’t worth shit to me from the ground

where i’m knee deep in mud

tending to plants you pluck proud

it must be nice when

all you need to do is put on a gown

sewn over years with a thread

that you can’t even pronounce

to take credit for

the notes that i bring to sound

and call yourself a musician

with borrowed tunes in your mouth.

my back

is not

your bridge

to something better.

it’s not a

shortcut

or a

springboard

it’s not a

jumping point

or a

launching site

it’s not a

dive bar

or a

rest stop

and it certainly

ain’t some holding place

for your ego

to recover.

my back

is not

your bridge

to something better.

it’s not a

warm-up

or a

practice round

it’s not a

trial

or a

safe bet

it’s not a

stepping stone

or a

foot stool

and it certainly

ain’t no pair of stilts

to raise you to

the heights that you can’t reach.

you may bellow

braggadocious

and drums your hands

on your chest

but you don’t even

have a fucking spine

and guess what

my back is mine.