darvo

Push me to my limits and watch me crack

recoil at the impact, point a finger, call me out

my reactions to your poking, prodding, spat-out insults are unacceptable,

and I am wrong to point out how we got here.

It's all excuses if I don't tiptoe, don't accept your attacks, defend myself;

excuses if I ask a question to understand, explain why I don't.

You hold onto grudges, pull complaints from years ago when I controlled my pain poorly,

but dare I mention what you said last month, last week, yesterday.

The double standards pile up, and you pretend you can't see them.