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 I just write. Sure, I have pieces in several books just scattered all around . Probably have written over 999 Poems by now. Still, My accolades are hard for me to gather and jot down. Let alone celebrate any milestone of accomplishment that I won’t remember when you ask what I have been up to anyhow. Imposter syndrome the persistent inability to believe that one's success is deserved or has been legitimately achieved… I almost thought they were defining me when I came across that word on Webster MD . I’ve never felt worthy of anything, not even things I worked at relentlessly, exhaustedly, tirelessly with every piece of me out of breath until the ending result was perfection nothing less than and still I couldn’t see why anyone would want to fall in love with me. I wished and prayed but that imposter pushed any hope for love away, reiterating the false dialogue I kept on repeat day to day. It’s strange because I believe its only when my spirit is in a weakened state. Even so, this cloud of doubt will dissipate the more I follow and he leads the way. Clearing my vision and the swindlers at play, who are working hard to keep me alone and afraid. I don’t claim that phenomenon and this inability to see what I have achieved, these ungodly feelings are something I now recognize as old patterned thinking . I was supposed to be this statistic, a druggie, crazy, out of my mind; ballistic. Someone kept me cloaked. Someone helped me miss it, the bomb society unintentionally attached to me because of the producers of my Limbic system. Reminded I’m not a stranger in my skin, I am just now learning how to settle in. Sometimes fraudsters sneak false thoughts but I don’t ride their beliefs as my own because today, they are not me. Now, I rely on the outcome of my actions as my “ imposter me not”, insurance policy.
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