Scott Aaron Tait
girl/boy
when presented with the question my lips
fuse shut. i can’t be this or that when i feel
like something other. girls play with dolls.
boys play with cars. i played alone. i am
neither or perhaps both. i could be the stroke
of midnight. a liminal in-between. the
witching hour. silence electrified. i’m that
oversized flannel shirt and those acid-washed
jeans. weighed down under societal pressure.
the hangman’s noose. normativity wrapped
around my neck. dead weight. i want to be a
pleated skirt. to swim in delicate fabric folds.
flowers embroidered into my failing flesh.
heaving bags of cement to fill in past trauma.
of boys don’t cry. hidden in the closet. once
called fairy now they. i come out once again.
your body is not human
cells are only forty-three percent
what’s the rest but
microscopic colonists
your body isn’t you
every nook and cranny is covered in
bacteria, viruses, fungi and archaea
you have limited ownership
no rights to this or that
it’s a queer thing indeed
in the dark murky depths
you rapidly transform
a cycle of death and renewal
a fluid rebirth gives way
to this new hybrid form
you’re more than human now
Counterculture
forgotten polytheistic masquerades,
honouring the great mother and horned god.
strobed disco lights and psilocybin,
giving birth to delirious dreams.
sexually liberated they dance,
free from burden and promises.
drunk on hecate’s arcane divinity,
there is pleasure in their queer joy.
but soon come the ignorant inquisitors,
with heinous allegations to deny them bliss.
a mad house filled to the heavenly rafters,
with shouts of damnation and annihilation!
limp-dicked lawmakers debating our existence,
outraged at the unseemly sexual depravity.
those critical pearl-clutching bigots pray,
invoking the hellfire that befell our sister sodom.
world nations fearful of transgressive identities,
forbid the faithful to read, think, or speak.
authority on one side but rebellion on the other,
while this putrid patriarchy claws for survival.
the unorthodox neophyte takes their communion,
of amanita muscaria and sails to unknown lands.
ecstatic proclivities of forgotten antiquity,
empowering hope of meadow-sweet freedom.
while the fagus tree whispers a salacious ballad,
our moon lady rides on erotic exuberance.
youthful willow borrows cosmic consciousness,
for modern-day pagans to fuck in naturalistic majesty.
sensual acts uncoerced in waiting silence,
for fairies dance and sing odes to ancient fetishism.
sacred esoteric pleasures offer them nourishment,
as indiscriminate demons undermine normativity.
these wild animals of earthly transformation,
bear witness to the televised revolution.
along the hedgerows the goddess is reborn,
and dandelion daydreams weave a queer utopia.
Scott Aaron Tait (he/they) is a queer autistic writer with a Fine Art MFA from Newcastle University. Their writing has been published in The Write Launch, Odd Magazine, Untitled Voices, Pastel Pastoral, From the Farther Trees, Warning Lines, Small Leaf Press and Unstamatic Magazine. Scott was shortlisted for Theatre Cloud’s ‘Tell a Tale’ Prize, received an ‘LGBTQ+ Free Read’ from The Literary Consultancy and is a mentee of the Cornerstones Elevate Mentor Scheme. They are currently editing their debut YA fantasy novel with support from an editor at Bloomsbury Publishing. In addition to writing, Scott is the editor-in-chief of the LGBTQIA+ magazines Queerlings and Powders Press. Between meltdowns, they collect things, mostly books, and drink copious amounts of coffee. For more on their work please visit www.scottaarontait.com and follow them on Twitter @scottaarontait