Poetry from Nina Berggren

In the mind of “that kid” in a wheel chair whom you never went and talked to


my vocal chords

are a sputtering car engine

Whirring, spitting, f






The wrong sounds escape me

a Vehicle that cannot be controlled

And I am the driver.


my arms slap my armrests furiously


The wings of a desperate bird caught under a

Plastic bag, but I will never be free

To be

And to be Me

Comeoncomeoncomeon… I think,

I     Strive.


to stand and to not collapse within

Daunting seconds where


10 worried faces peer into mine

They see me—drooling,snortingshrieking in hideous clothes I haven’t selected with hair too short for my pudgy face,and acne that needs to be treated with soap and hot water,and my crooked yellow teeth because

with     Every seizure+procedure done on the me that they see

They have forgotten to brush My teeth.

They listen to the me that they see

But they don’t hear Me.

they can’t



2 unhappy ppl with frowns “stapled” into the.skin.under.their.nose//s

Who see me once a day because

They feel obligated

To remind themselves


of the mistake that made joy as it once was—an alien term

I am that mistake.


I reallyreallyreallyreally wish they knew that

I hear their every word

And I fight to speak

I fight so hard to let them know I am more

Then just a


More than a limp toy who gets fed

cared for, but not entertained

more than the product of 2 people who

are afraid to love me who

regret me too

fearful to try again.


My words get caught     they come out as gurgles and whines.


My voice sizzles and dies

and i    am no longer









i am





The victim of a blue bucket


I am nobody you will ever meet

A mere shadow—

Unwanted on the steps of another’s house

With a bag full of all I own

Stripped away of sentimental things.


Someone gets pushed onto the

Fire escape above my resting spot

They hold a blue bucket

Water sloshing over the sides

They pour it


Onto my vulnerable, unprepared head.


I am soaked down to the bone

I say nothing, instead I stand

Picking up my dripping bag

I shuffle away convincing myself

That I deserved this

I am not convincing enough

I am just sad.


I stand at the corner with

Nowhere to go nobody to

Go to.

A woman walks by she is on the phone

Her words are like silk

I swallow them and they slide

Down my throat.


On the streets of Chicago

So many more shadows

So many more victims with

Their own blue buckets

In their own sad lives.