Resentment!

You! How could you!!!
It's bad enough when I'm
the bunt of your acts.
You, so kind to strangers,
so acerbic to me, how could you
treat her that way as my surrogate?
Resentment roils. I want to wallow,
to keen, to shriek.
"Resentment is infinitely grave,"
the book says. Yeah. I'd like to use
the term with a shovel
instead of a furrowed brow.
"We found that it is fatal."
Okay by me! But the book means me,
fatal to me. I wouldn't give you the satisfaction.
"The grouch and the brainstorm
were not for us." Poison, it calls resentment.
Like taking it and waiting for the other to die.
How could you?! 
Because you hurt. Because resentment
roils outside of me. Just because.
It's not my business. I wish for you
what I want. Peace. Serenity. Love.
Freedom from resentment's fist.

(Quotations are from page 66 of Alcoholics Anonymous.)