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 "Where does it hurt?" she asks, clipboard like a shield, pen cocked like a firing pin. "Here," I say, pointing to the silence just beneath my ribcage. Not the lungs. Not the liver. The place where sorrow goes to calcify. They send me down long corridors, all white noise and flickering fluorescents— like memory on a bad day. I wear a gown that opens in the back, like every conversation I regret. Inside the machine, I lie still as a kept secret. The MRI growls like an old god, searching my insides for evidence of war crimes. I think about the shrapnel— not metal, but moments. The look she gave me the night everything broke, like she was already ghosting through the wreckage of my voice. I tell the technician: It’s there. I can feel it. Each breath razors against it. But the scan is clean. No foreign objects. No narrative. They call it “psychosomatic” like it’s a compliment, like my body is staging a play my mind refuses to direct. Back in the doctor's office, she says, "There's nothing inside you." And I laugh—sharp and wrong. Isn't that what pain is? The something that feels like everything and shows up as nothing? I ask if she can x-ray a metaphor. She doesn’t smile. Just types and nods and offers a pamphlet on stress management as if I haven't already built cathedrals from my coping mechanisms. I leave with no diagnosis— just a quiet war still raging beneath my skin. A soldier in peacetime, saluting ghosts that never made it into the file.
Enter Author Name (Not Required)