keep adding floors,
my beloved building.

add a floor,
and then another.
be a skyscraper.

if you think
this is the penthouse,
think again

— you deserve to see farther.

the king
gave you
this puzzle
called life

and you,  jester,
rose to the occasion.

instead of figuring everything out,
you played around
— which meant
all rules you bent,
all instructions swayed,
all directions detoured,
everything but the puzzle was solved.

but irregardless,
the king was delighted
in your efforts
to make the court laugh
and in the end,
he gave you the key

and you threw it away
with glee.

just keep writing;

write as if the sentences you create
were new languages waiting to be translated

write as if the words side by side
were meeting each other for the first time

write as if the letters on your keyboard, or the ink of your pen
were only created just to make the masterpiece you’re creating.

and don’t doubt yourself ever.

for the words you write,
may be someone’s sorrows,
may be someone’s joy,
may be someone’s hope for tomorrow.

i wish i could write
when i’m happy.

i wish i could write
without reminding myself
that i should be happy.

i wish i could write
not only for myself
but for those whose hearts
were broken
reminding them
that it’s alright
and one day,
they’ll be happy.

i wish i could write.