Spitting in the wind

Self defeating tendencies,
I seem to have in spades
watch me as I dance for rain
on the eve of my parade.

My wit is razor sharp
when venom starts to flow
and just to spite my face,
I'll cut off my own nose.

For staying out of trouble,
I don't hold out much hope,
as I am prone to hang myself,
when given enough rope.

I shoot myself in the foot,
this appears to be a trend,
as I pull it from my mouth,
at conversation's ends.

There are lessons about love
I really should be learning,
but the only torch I carry
sets all my bridges burning.

Others swallow their feelings,
but I'll admit, with some chagrin,
I hawk up all my bitterness
and spit into the wind.