I wish I could have loved that paisley dress
you gave me on the day that I turned ten.
(If I were male, would you love me less?)
I smiled through my tears, my mind a mess.
‘You’re double figures now,’ you told me then.
I wish I could have loved that paisley dress.
I had no words, no language to express
my grief for years that wouldn’t come again.
(You didn’t want a boy. You’d love me less.)
Grow up, move on, conceal, deny, repress,
Yet still the image lingers, now and then:
I wish I could have loved that paisley dress.
It’s only now, at forty, I confess
my deepest dream: to join the world of men,
And live as Me. (But will you love me less?)
Perhaps this truth will shatter my success;
But if not Me, then who? If not now, when?
I never could have loved that paisley dress.
(I wonder if you love me any less?)