The ash sweeper

 I made my way with the broom
Sweeping both sides of the mansion alleys
The ash and soot accumulating into piles
satisfyingly coming together

Pieces of my skin were blackening and falling to the ground
So with every attempt to sweep I made more mess still
It kept going so I had to skip meals and keep sweeping
The big courtyard hill in the middle

There stood the important servants
Above my house rank
commenting on how poor my work was
I was just a sweeper good for nothing else

The world looked down on me
I saved my bitterness for the broom
And pretended not to see their sarcasm
As it burned my hope to live