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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Red String Skeleton He wants my confidence, My out-of-date inexperience, My overused innocence. There are not any bones, any ghosts in my closet. No one stayed around long enough To fade away into secret memory. There is only the one, solitary skeleton— Held together by red string from an old cardigan, And dead dreams from an old childhood. How do I exquisitely explain Sorrow and suffering, Loss and loneliness— So leviathan, so towering, Pervasive and perpetual, That I lost grip on the real world. I spun out of orbit Into a void of avoidance, Running from the nihilism and negativity Swelling in my heart. Only to return, redux, redo— Transformation so intense Onlookers need Ray-Bans to protect Gemstone irises from the glare Of fresh snow, So pristine in its flow. Aren’t I woman enough? My hips sway. My lips play along lines of politeness, Drenched in the pigments of approaching lust. I do not overthink All the reasons men remain distant— Derelict, defunct. That is their division, Dimension, Destiny. I grew weary of the wait, Refusing to accept that fate. Endless pining and desperate compromise— It was not for me anymore. I have my own baggage, My reasons for remaining offset. Outside. Wanting to divulge my truth— A confession given by dashboard light, Through a tunnel of desire, Tormented trauma of temptation. I tell you now: I am trouble. A broken woman, No goals. No ambitions. Will you depart the scene? Run for the hills, Gone without a trace? I deserve the intrinsic value of being human. I have a museum’s worth of art Swimming inside my blood— Words that rust in the mud. If I lined up all my sins, Would the devil take aim? Shooting me down into my own misery, Leaving me in the periphery, Full of capitulation, Wallowing in my own situation. I needed a hero. A Helo. A friend in the night, To help me move on From the fright— Touch upon touch, Skin on skin. The essence of life, And the lingering smell Of his day-old cologne. But instinct told me to run. Always to run. Because I had to run when I was young— From the man with a gun. If I rolled my truth up in a joint and smoked it, Would you stop asking me questions? These are more than inquiries— It is an inquisition. The questioning transports me to the location Where my childhood died, In front of onlookers. My truth runs crooked, Like the pathways through life, Or in my brain— A labyrinth of doom, A maze of ill wonders. Curiosity that killed a cat Left me paralysed, Regretting all that I said. Walked straight into the brambles, Left with a thousand cuts— Each one as deep as the first.
Enter Author Name (Not Required)