#cursive
you write in cursive
curling lines around me
so I'm stuck
stuck in the daydreams
of your hearts above your i's
you write in cursive
even though it was never taught
but it was learned by the girl who wrote in it
you write in cursive
and sometimes I wonder
when I should stop looking at your lines of poetry
in your daisy notebook
you write in cursive
and you curse to the sky
about how your lines will never be pretty enough
you write in cursive
but if you could see
that I understand your cursive too
would you smile and write my name in cursive?
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 3:02 PM UTC
I dot my i’s and
cross my t’s,
a perfect ballerina
dancing across the page.
Graceful as a butterfly
soothing like a summer sunset.
Sweet, simple, flawless.
But already there are
scribbles, mispelings,
blots of ink and suddenly
this perfect canvas is no longer
blank.
Oh, to write like a wildfire,
no remorse or formulaic
meter!
Just bared wide, torn open
displaying my wholeness as
us poets so often do.
Sep 3, 2024
Sep 3, 2024 at 11:40 AM UTC
I want to say something about cursive writing (this might seem random).
I’ve seen articles saying that cursive writing is a “dead art,” that computers have destined it for oblivion and questioning whether cursive writing should be taught in schools now-a-days.
But if you plan to go to college - relearn it and practice it, because you’ll need it.
Random hot fact. The first time you have to handwrite a multiple-question essay test - where each answer requires five hundred to a thousand words (a written page) - handwriting, in block letters, is unsustainable.
Your hand will literally cramp up - dog, you’ll suffer, your essays will suffer and so will your grade.
Writing in cursive is faster than block lettering and with a little practice, it’s effortless.
My sister told me this once, and this morning, as I watched other students, one third of the way into our essay test, grimacing and flexing their aching hands - I just smiled to myself.
Yeah, you can thank me later.
Dec 21, 2022
Dec 21, 2022 at 11:36 AM UTC
I've come to realize the fragility of life itself as of late; a delicate dance of psychological and physiological elements, converging in the process of sustaining a human life.
These components become so complexly intertwined; wrapping themselves around each other whilst expanding and contracting.
My biological systems may keep humming along, subconsciously—yet it is in my mental environment that I choose to allow them to continue. A fascinating concept.
Neurons fire in my brain, telling my arm to extend itself outwards in front of me as if to point at something interesting. More signals are sent, instructing my arm to bend at the elbow; I am now staring at the palm of my hand that rests a few inches from my face.
Neurons continue to spark and my hand slowly twists for me to examine its backside, and then it returns to its original position. My eyes are entranced as they explore the landscape of my palm; its creases and folds resemble a map of sorts.
Fingers methodically open and close—fist, open palm, fist, open palm. My grey matter is aglow as a colorful lighting storm of activity pulses throughout.
Eyes close for a moment.
Thoughts.
Memories.
Thoughts.
They open up again to glare at this dead hand. That’s the fascinating part, the fact that the very signals that are sent to trigger these hand movements—or to trigger my lips to form a pucker or toes to tap, tap, tap to a beat—can also instruct those fleshy appendages to move in such a way to extinguish my own life.
No safeguards? No life-preserving big red button that my subconscious can press in order to save itself?
Nope.
A choice.
A dance.
And I’ve decided tonight…I’m staying alive.
Because somewhere buried deep in my psyche is a little wrinkled-up piece of notepaper with the following words scribbled upon it:
“The sunrise is just over that hill. The worst is over.”
Aug 22, 2022
Aug 22, 2022 at 12:31 PM UTC
I write my words in cursive so they know how to.
The lines that bind us together can seem so thin,
like a dash of ink, it can be wiped away.
An island only knows water for the way it extends beyond the horizon.
The peaceful splashes of rippling waves can’t pacify the feeling of loneliness;
a passing bird squawks as it carries on its journey.
And the sun keeps rising day after day.
Have you ever felt the jolt of holding someone’s hand?
The spark of life that is embracing them in a hug?
We were made to connect,
yet so many of us sit aside
unplugged.
The singer on the stage begs us to sing along;
and for a moment, every stranger is bound by word and sound.
That post-concert depression hits hardest during that long drive home -
riding solo.
I write my words in cursive so that they know how to.
Because if they do, maybe you will too.
Dec 10, 2019
Dec 10, 2019 at 3:48 AM UTC
I wrote a letter in cursive
Perfect lines of painful words
I cannot say I don't deserve it
But i cannot say it didn’t hurt
Shimmering fireflies dimly lit the gloaming
While my tears softened the paper beneath the tip of my pen
And when the ink spread across the translucent parchment,
I saw your face.
And i heard your voice,
And i felt your sorrow.
So i put the letter in a locked drawer
And made the empty promise of finishing tomorrow.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 1:22 PM UTC
Let me be the cursive lines that flow from the black ink to your torn up notebook.
Let me be the harmony in your ears
Let me be what you write about at 2 am
Let the thoughts of us transfer to your pen
Flow from your mind and onto the white blank page.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 9:04 PM UTC
People always ask why I write in cursive
They always expect answers like,
its faster,
or I do it out of habit.
That is what breaks my heart the most.
People assume you can only do beautiful things
if they serve a function.
That beautiful things only matter
if they serve a purpose.
But cursive writing is beautiful and elegant,
it is a portal to a world long gone,
a lost art form
and it deserves to be appreciated
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
They won't teach you cursive anymore, kids.
We're in the digital age.
You've got an electronic page.
What are things that don't fade?
Please know there isn't a substitute for writing things down.
As I type this on my phone.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
I can't write
Russian with this pen.
This pen is stingy with ink.
I have to re-trace
my strokes to make them shown.
It makes me re-think my stupidity
before I can make it permanent.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
It's hard to forget you
And not just because I remember the way you made me feel (happy)
But because I remember everything
about you.
I remember the way you pulled me up into your treehouse and showed me your childhood, littered with cigarettes and beer bottles.
And the way your hands shook when you would touch me;
As if they were bottles of spray paint and my body was a blank wall.
I remember the way you would ramble on about nothing
Because you were afraid I'd get bored in the silence.
Yet talking with you was effortless; like how you once started a bonfire with gasoline: instant.
I remember the way your eyes always told different stories than your mouth
And how they looked when we sat by the river playing with cattails.
I remember the energy I felt when you made me break a window in the abandoned house
And the nostalgic sadness I felt when I broke the empty bottle of liquor in the same room
Alone.
Because I can't forget the nothingness in your eyes when you ended things
Or your steady hands that I was no longer allowed to reach out for.
I can't forget how you uncharacteristically said so little,
Dousing the flame I was trying so hard to keep alive.
Or how you so easily walked away
as though everything I ever remembered about you
Was really someone else.
I can't forget how you crushed my heart in between your hands until it turned to dust.
And now all I can do is spend my days writing your name in the ashes in cursive
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC