Holding A Grudge

It can be delicious, lightly flaked
brushed with sugary glaze
A midwife of identity, this
my upset, my dramatized wound

I hold it tight
wrapped in my hearted cocoon
waiting for your lob back into my court
ensuring the turn of the wheel

Forgotten until reminded
by the scene of the crime
or the sound of your voice
twisting into a thoughtless troll
feeding rancor

The grudge isn't ravenous
in fact it's already fading
If I had the inclination
or the energy I'd keep it going

Instead I let go and it's gone
but still I miss it when I
consider how delicious
my grudge is

when it's feeding me, me, me