Like an instinct

You hurt me more
than anyone else could.

It's my fault, though,
I let you too close.

My guard slips, stumbles,
Like it had too much wine.

Then I realize that the
clothes I wear, my hair,
the way I hold myself,

Aren't for another's judgement.
I realize that the pain most
people feel is too much.

They can't take it, and so
they give it to anyone who
will. It's not their fault.

They've been trained so well,
and have lacked for affection.
True affection, the kind that makes

Your hair stand on end and a
flood of comfort rushing up
your spine. But how does

it rush up?