Feb 1412 min read

Billet-Doux

Contributors

I want that type of love

Ash Raymond James

I want the I bought you this bagel

for no reason type of love.

That ‘I can’t even last the morning without thinking about you’ love.

The ‘I miss you text ten minutes after you left love’

The missed calls and notification on every platform love.

That borderline stalker love.

I want somebody who can prove my self-hatred wrong and reach into my darkness despite the campfire stories and village rumours…sort of love.

There’s a found footage movie in my chest which explains why I struggle to breathe sometimes,

I want that, kick the door down and burn the tape type of love.

I want that smushy, mushy love.

That ‘you shine so bright, the sun avoids looking at you in fear of going blind’ love!

That telling you I love you every time I leave the room love!

I want the barely making sense-type of love.

That did the fall from heaven hurt love

Because when I’m around you all I hear is harps love.

I want that honest love. That you look terrible in that shirt and really need a shower love.

That let me ease your trauma one letter at a time type love, that patient love, that even if it hurts

forever at least we can hurt together type love.

That I knew you were going to be sleepy this morning so I got you this coffee, extra shot, extra

sugar type love - I cooked you your favourite breakfast type of love.

That even if the day is a plane crash at least we’re both in the wreckage type love.

I want that fall asleep on my chest whilst I read you poems I wrote about you type love.

I want our love to be so sweet we have to call an exterminator, yes, I want an ant problem love.

I want to be so romantic we can hear the disgust of our great great granddaughter in the air type

of love.

I want a love that makes us believe we do anything. That we can save the world by just getting

out of bed, that we can give god two middle fingers and still make it into heaven.

I want time to be so dumbstruck it forgets to age us, I want hatred to evaporate at the mere

thought of us. I want that immortal even after we die….sort of love.

I want that anything is possible type of love.

That one day, we’ll be in texts books and people will name their children after us type of love

and they’ll put our teeth behind glass casings, I want a museum sort of love!

And the tour guide will say, it was these teeth that formed a smile across a crowded room that

caused somebody with an earthquake on the tip of their tongue to say hello and isn’t it

miraculous how quickly history can be made? Isn’t it marvelous how fast the world can change?

And a million years from now they will still be saying, we have a lot to learn from this.

Well I want that type of love, I want that type of love, I want that. Type. Of love.

Ash is a writer and a poetry and essay fanatic living in New Zealand who still can’t figure out how they made the dinosaurs looks so good in Jurassic Park in 1993. He has multiple publications under his belt and has won slams on multiple hemispheres but seriously, how did they get the dinosaurs to look that good? Find him on social media using the handle ashraymondjames on all platforms to see if he’s figured it out yet.

MY GUARDIAN OF LOVE

BHAVANI T

You make my heart fly,

With every glance, every touch.

Your love is like a sweet melody

That plays in the depths of my being,

Resonating with every beat of my heart.

I am forever grateful for the love and happiness

You have brought into my life.

Oh, you, you! My love-struck angel...

It's as if we were destined to be together,

You are my guiding light,

You are my source of endless joy and affection.

You bring out the best in me,

You have a way of captivating my soul,

Drawing me in with your magnetic charm,

In your presence,

I am filled with a sense of warmth and serenity.

You are my love angel,

My guardian of love,

And I am eternally thankful to have you by my side.

And now, you are my everything,

And you are the end of it too...

Bhavani Thangaraj, an English undergraduate from SFR College for Women, Sivakasi, was a skilled creative writer with advanced communication, method, and presentation skills. Her poems were published in various literary journals, and she secured the 25th rank in India and the 3rd rank in the state in the "NATIONAL ONLINE TALENT COMPETITION – (POETRY) 5th Edition". She was interested in writing poems, short stories, novels, and quotes.

Weather Changes Our Friendship Doesn't

Kate Stinson

Sam, you were there when I fell for many things

When I fell for those lengthy legs

You tall glass of water

You may think you are full, but the only thing

I see is you filling others’ cups

Crockett Falls and mushrooms

You dropped those paddles like your ex boyfriend

Stripped down to your bikini when I said

“Let’s get refreshed!”

Baptized

Renewing our best friend vows

Although you were feeling self conscious

You did it with me

You do everything with me

You are the “Yes” to all my questions

And to all my ideas

Sun. Hail. Snow. Sun.

Out of nowhere.

My smile crinkled my eyes

Crows feet, galore

I don’t have botox there

And I reached out for your hand

Begged you to snap a picture of us

I wanted to remember this forever

How often do 2 best friends get hailed on?

We weren’t worried about if it hurt us,

We won’t hurt each other

That’s all that matters

Man hunting in Mississippi

The sun fell onto us both

We didn’t need fake tans back then

Our friendship shimmered our skin

Tan lines formed naturally

My nose kissed

Your shoulder sprinkled with blush

Summer is our favorite season

Katherine Stinson (Kate) is a writer for Girlhood Magazine and a published poet with various magazines. She loves to travel, surf, and self-development workshops. She lives in Houston, TX. She received her B.S. from Sam Houston State University and teaching certificate from University of Houston.

Slow Burn

Anonymous

Three smoke stained glasses

Nothing but charred wicks to signify

That these were ever candles

Is love a forest fire

Or three once-candles

Coffee bean scented

The same flavor as my kisses

Burned steadily to oblivion

Heart Rot

Jeahnelle Garcia

Standing,

Just barely,

I wonder if those around me

Feel the same.

They stand tall,

I, a shell.

My heart is tired,

Worn and soft.

It happened,

Slowly, surely;

I felt every minute of it.

Still, I would not weep.

Eaten away,

Ruined from the inside;

Gently, deliberately,

I rotted.

But you,

Found home in my heart,

Hollowed out

Just for you.

Slowly, gently,

You nestled your way in.

And in the rot of my heart,

One last time, I was beautiful.

Even in death,

I was perfect for you.

Jeahnelle Garcia is a 17 year old writer from Trinidad. She has been a writer for as long as she can remember (no matter how questionable the quality of said writing was). She loves to make weird art, listen to music, and play with Beans, her beloved cat.

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT

Kolawole Lovelin

From my heart to your ears.

A true story, My love at first sight.

When I met you,

I knew you are that image of God that was created on the sixth day,

The rib of my ribs.

You're birds singing on a spring day,

Beauty, peace, love and art.

Your smile send chills down my spine,

Pretty as a picture.

It’s safe to say, you’ve abscond with my heart.

Hopefully, you’ll keep it safe till forever.

I know I’m a finished Man

To be sincere,

I would do almost anything for you.

I’ll be down for you here and there…

The sight of you make my body shivers

With every glance, my love for you grew.

Craving for your kisses, gentle touch, peaceful voice and presence every minute.

A love so sweet, I’ll never want to miss

I’m glad our path crossed, My soul mate.

Forever in my heart, you’ve sealed with a kiss.

I’ll keep loving you till thy kingdom come.

I LOVE YOU.

Kolawole Oluwabukola Lovelin is a graduate of university of Nigeria, versatile writer and poet who weaves captivating narratives and evocative imagery. Lovelin's poems explore themes of love, loss, nature, Africanness and the beauty of the human experience. She has over five poetry publications including Heron clan VIII - XI publication and The letters home collection.

LOVE, BE MY KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOUR

Abigail Addae

“Love is patient, love is kind, love does not envy or boast, it is not

arrogant or rude.”

I suppose love isn’t supposed to feel like a burden

It isn’t supposed to feel like a fire you cannot extinguish

It’s supposed to feel like a fairytale, not like a nightmare you cannot

wake up from

I can’t unlove you

Your name stings my lips,

As if laced with venom, poisoning my essence.

Recollections linger, imprints of your touch,

A fiery brand etched upon my skin.

Your kisses, your sweet affirmations,

Echo in the corridors of my memory.

You told me I was enough, you told me I was beautiful,

You kissed my cheek and held my hands

Caressed my cheek, entwined our hands.

Yet, you withdrew, as if my touch burned,

As if the intensity of my love scorched too fiercely.

The flames that flickered in me grew,

The fire that was my love grew too much

You escaped with a small bruise

I died in that fire waiting for you to rescue me

Waiting for you to say my name

Waiting for you to be my knight in shining armour

Abigail is a fourteen-year-old aspiring author in Australia who spends most of her time practising piano, writing, reading, listening to music and rotting away on social media. She wants to publish a book one day, whether it be a romance book, superhero thriller or poetry book, she hasn’t decided yet.

To the Admired Miss ------

Grace Hall

I feel that I must make confession; That you are admired, and by me.

That ever since I met you, I have been

Awestruck and confused.

At first, it is true that you inspired

In me a kind of Fragility.

I believed that you were all

That I was not, and by each meeting

I discovered more to make me frail.

Your popularity and style are of that

Ancient and noble nature which does

Not falter nor fade.

But equally, in each conversation

Your language and affection strengthened me.

You built me up to be a sort of

Monument.

I expect that to you, this is usual,

And even trivial. But now that I am

Built, I look down and see that I am a

Testament to your presence.

I exist in this form because of you.

Every sentence I have said to you

Contains a secret oath of fealty.

Each joke is my profession of devotion.

I would follow you anywhere -

So would we all.

I believe that you should know this.

Parts of me understand that you already do.

This letter will not threaten your anonymity

By describing your appearance, but

You are not that sort of dull beauty

You believe yourself to be.

I have always found you shimmering.

You are not the violin you believe you are.

We all hear the drums in your chest,

Try as you might to conceal them.

I hope that this will serve as a lesson of

Strength to you. And that once you understand

That this letter is meant for you,

We will never speak of it.

There will be a time when our eyes meet,

And we will understand each other perfectly.

All my love, and friendship,

Your admirer.

Grace Hall (she/they) is a poet, feminist & history student from Northern England. Her poetry focuses on themes of womanhood, love and spirituality. Grace published her first poem in Unfiltered Magazine at the age of 16, and has since published poems in Binge Magazine, Paper Lanterns Literature, Pastel Serenity Zine and the Luna Collective.

Heart of Glass

Lamarriv

Suddenly the summer showed a deafening silence that would consequently

destroy all the flourishing illusions that had promised to germinate after July 22.

Even every morning was no longer the same. The sun shone more dimly, and the

rare bird , the one that perches on my window every day, migrated to another

audience. The wind blew and made me shiver. I felt different. I felt something was

about to change places forever. There was no background music either, just the

empitness of the words dissolved in a lukewarm oblivion.

I surreptitiously read a letter to a recipient who was not me, but who nevertheless

spoke of me. My astonishment was superlative; it would cause me three continuos

nights of fruitless insomnia. The next day I went into the blue forest of secrets to

bury the letter and all those scenes where I was the protagonist of a story that had

completely forgotten my name.

She's a restless soul who seeks emotion in every single thing in life. She always tries to capture the imperfection in the reaction versus the perfection in the elaborated thought. She's a writer, a thinker, and a visual storyteller.

I'll Get There Soon

Erelah Emerson

I don’t know how to love properly

I never had the chance,

I read books on it in middle school

to learn how to do the dance,

and I’ll bring your favorite candy,

and I’ll listen to you rant,

and I’ll know that I do love you

even if I know you can’t.

I don’t know how to love properly,

but for you I will try,

I’ll learn to stop my yelling though

I grew up with that cry,

and I’ll bring you flowers for your birthday

and all the anniversaries are red

on my calendar so that I

can’t forget what you said,

I’ll take out the trash before you ask me to,

I’ll walk the dogs when you are tired,

I’ll order dinner when you’re working late,

I don’t think I’m a liar,

and when I’m angry

I’ll try to talk it out

instead of feeling doom,

I don’t know how to love yet

but I think I’ll get there soon.

Erelah Emerson is a poet with three books under their belt, Erratic and Unnecessary, Queen of Cowards, and Herringbone. When they’re not writing, they’re fighting off the aliens in their backyard trying to steal the hydrangeas.

Your Day Will Come

S.M. Gaudinier

There will come a day when you find a person who sees you and all that you hold

A person who will make you feel safe enough to take down your walls

Even on the days you lock yourself away they’ll be there patiently waiting for you to unfold

They’ll learn all your quirks, the things that make you laugh and the fire that stokes your

passions

A person that will memorize everything about you from the beauty mark above your lip to the

torn concert ticket that sits in the back of your wallet folded ever so neatly

And even then it won’t be enough for them

S.M. has been a creative writer for as long as she can remember but has really found her niche in television and poetry writing. Her work captures raw emotion and expresses it in a way that her audience not only finds it relatable but helpful and cathartic; something that is truly important to her and the reason she fell in love with the arts in the first place. Outside of writing S.M. is an avid softball player, swordfighter, cosplayer, reader, comic book lover and abstract painter.

Bibliophile

Kate M. Sine

Strike my lips and watch me catch fire,

reduced to a stuttering love letter feverishly confessing

as your mouth sweeps my skin,

punctuating body with tongue and teeth,

dictionary deteriorated,

Bible verses misquoted,

as the fabric peels away from the spine,

unraveling at the seams

what I mean to say is -

Chapters of thought shut tight

The only thing I can remember from all of those

passages, paragraphs, pages is

“you.”

Kate M. Sine is a poet who lives in Southern Maryland with her husband and their two cats. Her works can be found in Scraps Magazine, Maryland Bard Poetry Review, and Gypsophila Magazine. You can also follow her on Instagram @enis.st.sparrow

Worse

Holly Payne-Strange

It’s not that I love you.

It’s worse than that.

It’s that I trust you.

What poisoned chalice is this?

Wholesome like oatmeal raisin

when all you wanted was the easy sin of chocolate chip.

No, there’s obligation in trust,

and a weight, if you don’t know how to hold it right.

A gun that could go off

and you’ve no idea where it points.

I’m sorry.

I just do. You’re a good man.

You see your faults too clearly,

an etching made with such ferocity

it shatters the glass.

Forgiveness demanding vulnerability

ribs flayed open,

revealing a laughing heart

that giggle-screams “Do it again.”

Yes,

it's a little confusing.

Sit down. I’ll make some Langallo,

the way we had it in Budapest.

Maybe you’ll lose less blood

when you've eaten something.

Holly Payne-Strange is a novelist, poet and podcast creator. Her latest novel, All Of Us Alone, was a recommended read for Women Writers, Women’s books in December 2023. Her poetry has been published by Quail Bell, Call Me [Brackets], and Red Door, among others. She would like to thank her wife for all her support.

learning a language

Sashi Tandon

all these things

I know not how to say -

let me mouth them

upon your lips -

let me lather them

upon your tongue

like honey upon bread -

these secrets

I cannot speak -

silent in the tentative

fizzing air -

may I moan them all

into your attentive mouth -

tap them in morse code

upon your teeth -

let us communicate

like spies in a foreign

language -

careful to not be overheard -

these words

are only for you

Sashi Tandon is a young poet from Perth, Western Australia. Her poetry addresses love, beauty and the everyday in a way which reveals the humour and absurdity hidden beneath. She has also written multiple finalist and award winning short films. In her spare time she watches films, enjoys being in a book club and works in a gelato shop.

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