It's funny, you think you'd run from harm,
But you find yourself chasing it,
In your most vulnerable moments,
When you're cradling yourself in the corner,
Rocking, aching for release.
Because it's not harm when you do it yourself,
When you're holding the hurt in your hand,
Pure relief, comfort… how can it be bad?
They tell you to run, gently, then they beg,
Run from the prison you've built.
It's funny, you think you'd run,
But why would you run from home?

© Oli James