I laughed when you said you thought I was trying to scare you off when we first met.
I joked that maybe that was me baring my true self, and that my current disposition is the result of a concerted effort to restrain it. 
That I am not (thank god) Bukowski, there are no bluebirds in my soul.
Mine lives outside where bluebirds belong, Singing sweetly as can be reasonably expected by its peers.
Inside me (and I sort of presume inside everyone) must live some kind of feral goblin,
Who craves caterwauling, needs to sometimes spout gibberish.
So next time you ask
Why are you yelling?
What are you doing?
Know the answer deep in my heart is this:

*goblin noises*