If I did, I wouldn’t see myself.
          How could I, when the sun’s not there to see?
No, he’s nothing special; he’s not that bright,
          he’s not immense; he’s a yellow dwarf.
You wouldn’t miss him
if he wasn’t there.
                 But I would.
I’d call him a doctor, I’ll give her a life.
         No lights, just wishful sleep and surgery, I’d be asleep,
and when I wake up, she’ll be a girl.

         There’s no dreams when you’re under the knife.
While you’re there, they’ll take off your face
        and put it on backwards.
                  They’ll chop up your hair
and leave it behind.
        Pull out my brain and call it a favor,
but tell me the sun won’t know who I am.
Without me, the sun doesn’t die; he wouldn’t be here at all.
                   And is that so bad?
         A world without me, without a deep voice,
with shoulders that don’t catch on doors.
I’m looking for the nebulous me, the oblivious me,
who lies in her bed not wanting to dream.

I don’t dream, because I’m living the dream,
the one where I don’t change at all.
           If it’s not broken, don’t fix it,
and when you can’t fix it, just break it some more.
I could cut me into pieces
and you wouldn’t find me at all.
          I’m what I’m supposed to be, that’s what I say;
Don’t tell me I’m not, I’ll ask myself, thanks.
And I’m sorry I’m a boy
         but I won’t be sorry for long