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 Sometimes I feel them counting me with their eyes, not looking, but tallying, like I am something that can be priced. Their stares peel, not gently, not kindly, but like hands that don’t ask, like ownership already decided. I tell them to get off of me And when they don’t I stand there the same way I stand here, learning the weight of being seen and still unseen, naked, not in body, but in permission. To them I am reduced, an animal with conditions: “prove you belong, prove you are worthy, prove you are more than labor.” Why can’t I just prove I’m human and go home? Let me go one time and then capture me, I’m just livestock meant to be slaughtered. I turned eighteen, and nothing changed, except the expectations grew teeth, gnawing at me to convince me of my hunger--- But I don’t wish to reach the stars If I can’t ever touch them. No one warns you how exposure feels, how it echoes, how it lingers, how it teaches your skin to remember as it clings to every inch of you, and crawls inside every crevice. A cave diver that wishes to be a parasite. They notice everything: the thin, quiet history on my left wrist, the absence on the right, as if symmetry could mean healing, as if clean skin means clean past. And still, why must I be opened like a question? Why must my body answer what my voice has already said? Why must I be unfolded, inspected, decided? Decided. Decided if I am worthy of what I have made, of what my family has made, of what we have built with hands that never stopped moving. I am not your specimen, not your threshold, not your proof. I am a working woman, not something to be worn, not something to be weighed, but something that endures, even when watched.
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