The Changeling

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Martino di Bartolomeo

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.


Inside of Me a Forest Grew

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Inside of me a forest grew.
Its trees kept calling: come in , come in
I saw a path and I followed it.
Suddenly, I was running on my four legs.
My fur was soft.
I saw my own soul.


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