𝐸𝓁𝑒𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒾𝒶

They say humans aren’t born bad.

like that should comfort me.

like it means something

when I walk through a world

stitched together

by things we chose anyway.

They say we aren’t born good either

and that feels closer to the truth.

blank hands,

empty as open doors,

waiting to be filled

with whatever we’re handed

or whatever we take.

And what we take

what we make

what we leave behind

it’s everywhere.

I see it in the quiet cruelty

people pretend not to notice,

in the systems built so carefully

they look like accidents,

in the way harm becomes routine,

like background noise

no one bothers to turn off.

I am surrounded by it.

not monsters, not shadows,

not something easy to name and fight

people.

people who wake up,

get dressed,

go to work,

and build small pieces of something broken

over and over again.

And maybe that’s what unsettles me most

evil doesn’t always roar.

sometimes it hums.

sometimes it smiles,

shakes your hand,

and calls itself normal.

They say we aren’t born bad.

but we learn quickly.