I’m so tired of
being an idiot
and even more of not
being allowed to be one
as if I owe you something
and you’re right it’s probably
true I’ll never find someone
as beautiful
and good as you were
and who accepts me
even though I’m disabled
which being alone
really also feels like
right now
a disaster
where fewer and fewer places
are bearable
to be
like leaving
your apartment for
the last time
I knew that I
also would be
completely wrecked
shut inside my room
even though it looks nice
enough because I’m
constantly confronted with
you already at a techno party
somewhere in Kødbyen
on Instagram and
even the slightest movement
like heating something
in the shared microwave
can feel like a challenge
because I don’t have the energy
to have to admit
that I feel pretty
destroyed right now
meeting someone in the kitchen
it’s not particularly
original but it’s a
unique
way to feel
in this sense
everyone could be called disabled
or just people
with different disabilities
we destroy our own bodies
we destroy the statues
we destroy the small deities
and then we destroy each other
I have just been destroyed
from the start
in the American Apparel on
Washington Avenue
the cashiers sometimes looked
uneasy thinking that I
was planning
to limp around
in public
with Cerebral Palsy
right in the middle of their collection
as if the imperfect body
might contaminate
their image and status
but the body will
probably never
unfortunately

 

 

 

_____
Excerpt from the long poem NIKE (Gyldendal, 2015). Translated from Danish by Sherilyn Hellberg. Artwork by Edvard Munch, Melankoli (1892).