Free online greeting card maker or poetry art generator. Create free custom printable greeting cards or art from photos and text online. Use PoetrySoup's free online software to make greeting cards from poems, quotes, or your own words. Generate memes, cards, or poetry art for any occasion; weddings, anniversaries, holidays, etc (See examples here). Make a card to show your loved one how special they are to you. Once you make a card, you can email it, download it, or share it with others on your favorite social network site like Facebook. Also, you can create shareable and downloadable cards from poetry on PoetrySoup. Use our poetry search engine to find the perfect poem, and then click the camera icon to create the card or art.
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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required For awhile, I thought I had. New love. New dreams. New smiles. Letting go, the small things that hurt. They are tiny compared to past, trashed confidence. Never quite finding my true place in the equation. Maybe the answer is stuck in some ugly , frothing math book, somewhere. If so, I won't look there. Why bother. I am made of heart. My only thinking muscle. Whether beating with joy or pain, it's beat is reliable. Consistent. Safe. My only true measure of my own reality. Even broken, it is less painful than letting it rely on misguided thoughts. Feeling lost, while watching agendas, that seem to be the norm. Other people's norms..........not mine. I will never understand the meaning of "self first". I have lived my life for others, since the day I cried at birth. Abandoned. My birth, an inconvenience to a womb. My existence, to make a childless couple happy. A friend, to soften the blows of life for the masses. A Mother, to succeed and fail. A lover, to give and give and give. A spirit to fly. A soul, to yearn. A body to tire. Watching simple selfishness, destroy our world. Reaching with an open, soft hand.....just to so narrowly miss, sharing a loving touch. A touch, that might have saved a sightless and misunderstood, silent innocent. We stay in the background. We have been conditioned by our own experiences, our own shortcomings, our passive tears. A balance, perhaps? To keep the equation from tipping over the universal rhythms? I feel it. Heavy, with doubts of belonging. Wondering how the self absorbed agendas of the stronger minds, stay crisp. No illusive smudges. Never wilting. No room for throwing the afore said agendas, into the hammock overviews, of a rotated picture. Find my place? I'm probably on a list, somewhere.
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