Dirty Work
There are those who love the fruits but despise the soil.
They crave the harvest but refuse the labor.
They call it partnership, but it’s servitude dressed in charm.
They hand you their undone tasks, their neglected duties, their heavy burdens
and they call it “help.”
They spend their gold on pleasure, then turn their empty palms toward you,
expecting your time to fill the void their choices created.
But the earth remembers who tills it.
The energy knows who carries the weight.
And the spirits of labor do not bless the idle.
Tonight, I cleanse the residue of others’ avoidance.
I return every unearned burden to its sender.
I reclaim my hands, my hours, my sacred effort.
Let those who refuse their own work
be haunted by the tasks they abandoned.
Let their undone duties whisper to them in the dark.
Let their comfort turn to restlessness until they rise and face what they fled.
I do not carry what is not mine.
I do not labor for the lazy.
I do not build for those who refuse to stand.
This is the rite of reclamation.
This is the end of borrowed effort.
This is Dirty Work purified.
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