All of my dishes, stacked in my room
Am I a slob? Please don't assume.
Clothes—whether *****, clean, or worn—
I know the difference, though they're strewn.

Twinkling lights strung overhead
Match the lamp beside my bed.
With dust my dresser is adorned,
And my favorite chair is red.

I see the beauty in the mess;
Why do you cry in distress?
Mom, I like to live like this.
And I have no one to impress.