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.
Enter Title (Not Required)
Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required A mother to you, a son to me, sucking the life out of my bosom and weep in disgust when it's saggy. Men love a tempting hole to fit in, to dissolve seeds of bliss and then chymic wring it barren of faith. They carve open doors in me and call it a home. women love a alchemist man , fixing her a hermetic bleed till she droughts. We kneel before charlatans , praying they will turn our bruises into ivory pearls. He smelts my body into his furnace, a vessel he tempers but never treasures. For she does a lore gathering, his awe vanishes when he recoils like a cannon when her lapis tears turns into rusty black. My sapphire veins curdle into iron, my tears tarnish like oxidised silver. When will I be granted to love, be loved? Is there a surgical routine to remove my own famine? Am I not feminine enough? do i howl like a wolf at your moon? My womb houses a cemetery of his desires, for his devotion buries in it and never traces my pulse. Sculpted me into a marble and chipped me down to dust. My glory resides only between my tendrils, a catacomb where his footsteps echo in my hollow halls. I was promised milk and honey, but my lips taste only rust when your touch mine. He is my man and i am his it, carves obedience into my ribs but my spine grew sharper. for i am his cherry pulp and womb a fire pit, i birth rage not blissful seeds. Licking a man's bones , chewing it till his marrow to know where does his audacity comes from. I am his jumbo carcass, a roadkill scorning at my exploited scathed ivory tusks. The Alchemist is gone, the furnace is cold and I remain, a ruin of what was never gold.
Enter Author Name (Not Required)