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 am writing you in purple. Not the word— the taste: that iron bite of violet petals crushed between molars, the way they stick to the roof of the mouth like communion wafers dipped in wine gone slightly wrong. You understand, of course, that I can’t help but eat each sentence as I write it. The ink bleeds grape-skin bitterness across my tongue, tannins puckering the soft flesh where speech should live. The envelope waits on my desk, fat with pages I’ve been licking at the edges. Violet. That’s the specific shade of metal—not silver, not quite lead— the taste of costume jewelry warming against a throat, or blood when you’ve bitten down too hard inside your cheek and tried to hide it, swallowing. I seal this letter with my teeth. The glue tastes like the end of something: overripe, about to split, that moment when a grape becomes obscene in its sweetness, when fermentation starts inside the skin and everything turns to wine or vinegar—there’s hardly any difference, really, just time and what you’re willing to call it. You’ll taste this when you open it. The paper will dissolve like sugar steeped too long, and purple will coat your mouth for days: brutal, gorgeous, the specific flavor of a color that exists between a bruise and a flower, between the blue of suffocation and the red of wanting. I’m sorry. I know you asked for yellow. But yellow tastes like cowardice and butter, and I have only purple left to give— this bitter sweetness, medicinal and lush, the aftertaste of beauty or of poison. Sometimes even I can’t tell which
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