Sometimes I think I need a thinner shell.
People–they say they bend, they break,
or either or but–sometimes I think that
all I would need, is a thinner shell.
I find that I get egged
on, so easily; if you turn me on–
if you turn me on–
you turn me on, I’ll never stop.
True story. Again and again and again.
True story. And I am not bragging.
Tell me I’m wrong, insult me, embarrass me;
advise me or even be nice to me; better yet
you can hurt me, or even yet you can tell me that
I’m hurting you–no matter–if you tell me that
I need to stop, you will only but egg me on.
The only times in which I stop are the only times
in which you break. I am a monster. I really am.
I am a monster. And I am not bragging.
I’ll egg my way through breakfast and lunch;
I’ll egg my day into the night;
I’ll egg my nights into the years.
I can, I have, I do and I am not bragging.
For what I strive
is come what may,
I’ve but none;
I’ve but none.
And I am kind
of bragging; I was, just a bit;
sprinkled with ambivalence.
Because what I like, in life is a challenge, like,
finding brick walls and running into them until
they crumble. That is a good challenge.
I’d once read about a spider–a funnel-web of
some sort–highly venomous, highly primitive;
lives somewhere in Australia; they’d said that
if you spray it, with any killer, you will only but
make it angrier. I think that I am that spider.
And I am bragging. Because I love animals,
especially spiders, especially that spider.