As a Dane

I was born and raised in the haze

they tend to proclaim

the happiest nation of them all.

Which should be reflected in my smile

and not in the tears

running down my cheeks.

I am nothing

but a child in a world of adults,

but no matter

how many languages I learn,

they never seem to listen

when I speak.

As a Dane,

I'm taught English at the age of seven.

Apparently, that is the only way

we are able to reach heaven.

When the royal words

tasted familiar in my mouth

they turned their attention

to our neighbors to the south.

German or French.

It never really mattered which.

As long as these foreign words

covered my Viking decent.

All I ever wanted was to blend,

but this fair skin and silvery blonde hair

have a habit of behaving like a light house.

A magnet to those

attracted to violence.

When we were younger

we were always told,

that if we wanted to be famous

we had to move,

because nothing

was all we would ever be

at home.

Denmark is the product of ordinary

and at some point,

we stopped looking for more.

We are not delighted,

bright

or happy at all.

We just found hope

in the hopelessness

and somehow managed

to fool the world with our words.

I was born and raised in the haze

they tend to proclaim

the happiest nation of them all.

So tell me why my dreams are broken

and my smile forever frozen?