I’m sixteen lines old,

Or should it be long?

Made up of singing lyrics,

But I’m not a song.

A story perhaps,

Because I definitely tell,

All the times your heart’s broken,

And all the times it has fell.

Maybe I’m a fable,

Or advice from the wise,

Or an old diary entry,

For only your eyes.

I lock like a vault,

I keep feelings unknown,

But the simple truth is,

I’m just a poem.