My soul is a witch’s brew
masculine and feminine
swirling and incensing in a cauldron
it’s cursive writing in the morning
and blocky letters come the evening
it’s driving along a sun-kissed highway
and wading barefoot by a meadow
it’s shaggy hair, untamed from the night before
and wearing sunglasses like Lennon’s, August, 1974
and feeling fucking cool
it’s thumbs slipping into belt loops of jeans
and standing like a sheriff
it’s rubbing essential oils into hairy armpits
and putting them on display
a challenge to men
but a lure to women
it’s flattened breasts in tight t-shirt
and packing floral panties
it’s rebellion
it’s your mum AND your dad
it’s expansive, like water seeping in grate
it’s hand sewing skirts
and then kicking ass in them
it’s Carrie Fisher and Paul Simon at the London premiere of The Empire Strikes Back in 1982
it’s an itch coming from my stomach
wondering if there’s more words
to describe what’s brewing in my soul
it’s clutching at the beads hanging at my neck
as a growl of self-doubt comes from within
a growl that calls me a “girl”
             a faker
                         a try-hard dyke
                                          but never my name

My gender is a witch’s brew
                            and it is mine
                                       to conjure       alone  

About the author

Lilian Martin (they/she) is a third-year creative writing student based in Brisbane/Meanjin. When Lilian isn’t studying, they are busy listening to old music, talking about old music or singing along (badly) to old music. Lilian’s work has appeared in Glass, ScratchThat and Vermillion’s Groove Garden. You can find them avoiding responsibility on Instagram @lilian.is.feelin.groovy.

Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash.