My Hands Were Never Clean

Macalister Bali
Jul 24
1 min read

To become someone better,

I must first descend into the darkness and confess what waits for me there.

Not some grand, theatrical evil, but the quiet cruelty of betraying myself, reopening ancient wounds, hurting those who dare to love me, and embracing what ruins me.

I cannot bloom while pretending my hands are clean of the grave I dug.

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