I live inside my head

I live inside my head. It’s where I work and play.
I use my eyes to see the world, or push it all away.
My ears sit right there on each side to catch a passing sound,
and when I want to change the scene, I push my feet around.

I also have a nose that works to tell me what’s nearby.
It warns me when there’s smoke or stink or something tasty to try.
It helps my mouth and toungue as they identify my food.
I also use my mouth to speak, though my words aren’t always good.

I have these things called arms and hands that let me touch and feel.
They sometimes hurt or help or build, and sometime even heal.
They let me come outside my head and move my world around.
They let me hug and break and bend, or make a fist to pound.

I live inside my head. “How lonely!”, you might say.
It’s not so bad, so lonely, so sad. It’s where I work and play!