A Bow Atop My Horns

I encompass a rebel within A need for eccentricity No trespassing signs don't win Over my curiosity I find it quite appealing Sporting a sleeve of paint Though palms erect, kneeling I wasn't born a saint Rules don't suit my fancy A bit disagreeable Guidelines make me antsy A domesticated bull Pleasantly off color A delightful rose with thorns Smelling of burnt rubber A bow atop my horns