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 know which cup to leave chipped in the sink, Mouth open begging for rot. I know which word to spill— Vinegar, nettle, sour-spit— To make him blink slow and tight, The way thunder coils before breaking. It's a little game I play. I wear the red dress he hates, The one that clings like wet birth skin, And I let my laugh scratch the walls Like a dull blade across glass. I call him small. I call him nothing. I call him mine. His eyes darken like bruises Before they ever reach the skin. I crave the crack of the lamp against the floor, The sharp breath before he says "", The heavy heat of his hand Making sense of my jaw. That's when the world feels real— Frayed rug beneath my knees, Metallic salt on my tongue, The soft throb of breaking. He says I make him do it. I say nothing, wipe the corner of my mouth, Watch the red bloom like mercy on white tile. I don't want apologies. I want the crack, the ruin, The split lip's gospel— Proof that he's still in there, That I can still make him burn. He cries after. Every time. Like some god who forgot how to love Except by flooding the earth. And I hold him. I tell him it's okay. It is. It is. It's love, isn't it? The jagged mouth, the broken glass, The fever of wanting to be wanted Even if it means ruin. I make him violent. He makes me holy. We make a church of scars. We kneel and worship in bruises and silence. Tell me that's not devotion. Tell me I don't deserve it. I'll smile anyway— Blood in my teeth, Sweet as pomegranate.
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