Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

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 the photo graphic, 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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Rape
October: I'm eighteen, shortcutting home through an autumn-burnished churchyard - copper-lustred leaves, moss-skinned stone - a jaunty swing of skater skirt and arm, college folder square-sturdy in my hand. In the moment. In the last pale pulse of sun. "Hey, can you tell me...?" I halt. I turn... Cold earth. Colder blade dimpling my skin. My coral cameo earrings scatter, daisy-dotting the green. My back is spiked by needles of yews. Sun skews, sky side-slides until his face is the firmament. I'm staring into the tumid blank-bloat of blue; the ground hardening beneath me, the death-spike trees stiffening. Heavy Special Brew breaths. Grubby, moist fingers like grubs crawling over my breasts, and, weirdly, I'm smelling pepper - horror-spice of pungent lust, its acrid nose-thrust - and woodsmoke is drifting from somewhere... lung-flame, tongue-flames of searing words - his words - blazing like the umber tumbling leaves. "Please...Please...I'll..." Fear-forced bargaining, but I'm beyond care. And I'm aware of the church steeple rising, its phallus penetrating sky. The tilting church could topple as tears crystal-crush in my eyes. Fear-faint, already half gone in a soundless scream, my muted mouth mouths silent goodbyes to Sarah, to Mum. Time slows to a crawl. I try to call. Nobody comes but the man who has me ground-pinned. Bleachy stink of semen whitening my ripped skater skirt, but some things don't fade and there is no clean in this, just dirt, wet leaf-mulch, shame. Ineradicable hurt. Sacred soil is soiled, sullied. Stunned, I stumble shoeless, knickerless, into the trees and heave into the mud, into the leaves strings of spittle-sick, my thoughts strung out, reality spun out. From stinking, pulped leaves I retrieve crushed coral earrings, ground-grimy knickers, my white court shoes that whitely scream the 80s, the scattered tatters of essays - white, like fallen feathers, sunk in the sludge, muddied, the red-inked words bloodied. I gather them together. Gather myself. I go forward into my future, stained from pain and tainted touch, the smears of fear, self-disgust. And oozing slime-soft into my ears the mire of incongruous apology: I'm sorry don't tell anyone - I won't. I don't.
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