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 {"Hadn’t you known, or care to acknowledge that I am wholly fond of my life as of right now? I’m in love with the lighting that shoots and grazes my neighbor's balcony as I sit in front of my own, just by looking or glancing or stealing a glimpse at the projection of lights that shine as stars would in the summer nights and we cannot help but delve into, our inhabitants relying upon them. There are so many more that I am in love with but now, I fail to love people, it’s something I feel awful about. So, Did you know, that I fail to incorporate one thing nowadays and that is what I should be longing for, in my loneliness, in my solitude I lay moist in the woods of my whereabouts, the tears aligning my cheeks as waterfalls that are endless about, but I can’t, something in the void and mess of my heart keeps me back from doing so, from feeling what I should though I have a hard time believing it rightfully so that something indeed is wrong with me. I jog, I sprint away from agony, misery, and sorrow. My feelings, get too much, so much so they could drive me from a cliff and be the end of me, the memories whiplash against my cranium though I cannot stop running, I cannot stop falling once I give them a chance they would become my end. I cry out that I do not want to be loved anymore and stop the spirits from following me, these people should leave me alone, I don’t want to break under pressure, I don’t want to crack more than I already have. Bits and pieces prying away, myself included in the listings awry. My tears cry rivers, they cannot come to an end, my heart is an endless storm, and its screams are too loud and nerve-wracking. The feeling of something breaking more or so than ever, something broke along the way of loving too much y’ know, as we were kids, we broke the twigs belonging to the branches, we broke along the branches belonging to the trees and nobody was reluctant, it wasn’t alive anyways, it couldn’t breathe, it couldn’t see, it couldn’t hear, it was illiterate as I. It didn’t deserve any attention, the attentiveness of humanitarian efforts, affection, devotion. We are corrupted in some places, vanished in some phases of teenage despondency, and we can’t seem to comprehend how much we broke ourselves amidst prying away others too, demolishing them, incorporating them into our limitations and access of the privilege how instigating to dote upon initially feels like. We were brought upon as, the initial suffering of two adults, and my eyes could take in a glimpse of what they have been through and through to raise us, for us to love everybody shrouding us in the illuminating darkness, to become the Good Samaritan, the good-willed children, a product of the love we were exfoliated upon. Though I shut that down, I plugged out the sensors, the nerves, the power, the dopamine doesn’t do help to my heart, the serotonin is beyond my belief, the oxytocin cannot be relied upon for satisfaction, for dwelling down the igniting sensation that comes from the swelling inside, avoid multitasking upon my sentimentality. My feelings are too awful to be authentic and should reach the breach of expiration date so that I could be devoid of them, I have never heartened to a point or yearned for the momentary vanishment of them, to be tied to the refuge of my anatomy as a captive, I know what I have done to myself, I have felt everything so much until I could feel nothing at all, so that I could reach my doomage, and cannot love again once in for all. Is it self-sacrifice or sabotage, is it a self-defense mechanism, or is it a virtue, a disguise? I have felt too much, so now I could feel nothing at all, the only lie I make myself believe is, that I am as free as a bird, but I am as invisible as a ghost. If it makes any sense at all, I loved them so much until I loathed loving. I bled out in front of you. Yet, you didn’t even, bat an eye."
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