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
Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2016
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