Короче, харэ ныть.
Мне тут по литературе задали стих написать на английском (спрашивается, причем тут литература, если задали написать оду самому себе, но спросите нашего препода-психолога, емае)
Первую строку нам дали, а то я бы так в жизни не написал.

I celebrate myself and praise myself
For coming out of homely shelf.
For what?being afraid of death and height,
For being mistaken and being right,
For dullness and for my hard work
For liking beef, not liking pork.
For dreaming big and dreaming small,
For hating cold, but loving fall.
For wishing love and missing home,
Not finding place, where I belong.
For soul that I am afraid to show,
For chances that I always blow.
For people that were never mine,
For wasting cash and wasting time.
For my sarcasm and silly acts,¬¬
For my anxiety attacks.
For being imperfect in all way
But feeling perfect anyway.
I think it worth to celebrate
For simply being alive today.
And, for being myself, truth to be told,
This is the toughest trick in world.

Ну что, мой первый стих на английском, горжусь, че.