Who I Really, Truly, Surely Am
I truly do think that I am best,
But I certainly can be a pest.
I used to own a nice grey vest,
But that I grew to detest.
The only hope for me to be known
Will be if my book's binding's sewn,
But if its not, my confidence will be thrown
Into the fire that's made of bone.
I may be rather wide,
But I can't ebb or flow with the tide.
Therefore, I need not bide,
Or even run and hide.
I may be stubborn, I may be strict,
But my skin can't be pierced by a stick.
For my mind is difficult to depict
On a conversation that you have picked.
Love me for who I am,
Not for my love of jam,
And soon you'll find that I am like Pam;
Slipping and sliding, while you're stuck in a dam.