It never was you, the problem, it was always me. I'm loved by people all over the world--a hundred different languages used to express their joy of my existence, and it means nothing. Sure, I can laugh and boldly boast that "I'm the man," but if you shake a stick at my words, the black crow of disbelief flies from my mouth--I used to tell you that as long as you hated yourself, you could never believe I loved you, for after all, who could love you, right? Well, let me tell you something little Katie; how could I ever believe that you loved me, and that you were mine, when I never thought I deserved you.
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