I hardly have a good excuse for anything I do-
My rants are not philosophies-
My ramblings are not psychology.

I admit I’m not very smart-
I don’t even know how to remember the things I ought to,
But I like me, I like me. 
Like I like my interests, as odd as they may be-

I like my eyes- they lack color, but have perfect foresight.

I like my mouth- wide teeth and color-changing lips.

I like my hands- like I like my grandmother’s.

I like my hair, even though it’s one of the most boring things around.

I don’t have a good excuse- 

Still, I like myself and sing hymns of acceptance with a hollow mind and healthy heart.

Things are more important to me- they made me the me I like.