Martino di Bartolomeo
They yell at me
And tell me I’m not their child.
Yet, here I am
Wearing these clothes, eating this food
Sleeping on this bed, and carrying their name.
They say the fairies are angry
And jealous.
They took the wonderful boy
And brought me here, instead.
Their sweet, golden, perfect boy,
Who lived only in their dreams and expectations.
I know nothing of fairies, of forests, of evil.
All I know is that I’m hungry and cold.
Words don’t come out of my mouth the way they do to other people.
My legs don’t move the same way as other people’s.
But I feel exactly the same way other people do, and I cry, and laugh, and grieve just the same.
Changeling, Changeling from Hell.
That’s what they call me.
Oh, boy,
Hell is where I am right now.
Wooden Box 
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