chewing on some anger

I should expect this sort of thing. Should know how to cope.
Breathe through it. Patience. Reinforce the boundaries.
The object of ire does this sort of thing all the time.
Day in and day out. Decades of this sort of thing.
Never regretting, never apologizing. Always the passive player.
Consistency and longevity ought to give me a certain cynical edge of defense.
It does to some extent. And yet it still hurts.
And here I sit pounding the keyboard with some trite bullshit.
Sounding like a petulant teenager, reaching for a bottle or a bong.
Harming only me with my hurt. Still unable to swallow it completely.
Fucking shit.
At least I can still swear like a petulant teenager. It provides a little relief.