Metaphoric bliss

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!