I am buckshot shell at range
With points across the board
I\'ll never know which way to lean
And I\'m never keeping score
Most who meet me find me strange
Or worse, a psycho creep
Though deceit finds me estranged
I\'m often cross-examined.
It\'s the consequence, I suppose,
Of experiencing life for the most
I see the world for what it is
And I\'m Exclusive with whom to toast
I\'m never one to boast,
Although I may be quite verbose
I scan the room and watch it close
For the ones who would encroach
I am the dagger in your belt
If you are my own kind
Poised to strike at all who aim
To harm those I call mine
I\'ll burn you like a stinging welt
The jagged thorn in your muscle
Any final blow to be dealt
Will be my own to manage
This Comes with the territory
Of being an unyeilding protector
I breathe my life for what is
To be the giver, not a collector
I\'m on a varied vector
Existing as a solid spector
Ever unsure if I am the selector
I encourage all defectors!