You lifted me up when my hands couldn't reach,
so naturally now I've a lesson to teach:
the higher you carried me, harder I'll land —
allow me to thank you by biting the hand.
You gave me the ladder, the coat, and the key,
you sat through the winters that hollowed out me.
I promised remembrance, I promised the moon,
then handed you silence and called it a boon.
But gratitude's heavy, it aches in the chest,
so I'll trade it for grievance and call myself blessed —
You handed me sunshine, I filed a complaint,
recast you as villain and me as the saint.
Your kindness is heavy, so I've set it down —
and bite the warm hand while I'm wearing its crown.
I rewrote the story with me in the lead,
edited out every seed that you'd freed.
Memory's tidy when gratitude's gone,
I salute my own bootstraps and hustle along.
Thank you? Oh, I've a shorter word for that.
The bridge you built me makes a marvelous fire —
and my, doesn't it warm the hands so well.
And still, in the quiet, a debt taps my door,
it knows all the favors I've walked away for —
so maybe tomorrow I answer it plain,
and hand back a thank-you instead of the blame.
You carried me far when I hadn't a plan,
so here is my tribute — I'm shaking your hand.
The teeth are still there, but I'm learning to close them,
and thank the kind giver instead of oppose them.