Cursive & Split
My cursive is the original me, a flowing script so free, In every curve and swirl, my essence finds its glee. With every loop and bend, my truth is elegantly drawn, A reflection of my soul, in the lines that I spawn. But then there's a split, a fracture in the stream, A deviation from authenticity, like a shattered dream. In the spaces between, a masquerade takes flight, A veneer of pretense, a departure from the light. My cursive, though, it weaves a tale sincere, A symphony of self, where doubts disappear. The split may try to hide, alter, and feign, Yet my true cursive spirit forever shall remain. For in the flowing ink, in every cursive line, Lies the heartbeat of truth, a treasure so divine. So let my cursive guide, let its whispers be heard, As I embrace my genuine self, in every written word. ...