Ballad of the Changeling
They called me Changeling,
Because it seemed
I was snatched from my
Cradle and spirited away to a world
Where things don’t make sense.
They called me faerie-child back
In the day
When the assault of a church bell
Like a brass hammer pounding
My skull was enough to sentence me
They called me “wyrd,” in the early years
For failing to grasp the strange decorum
Of the human world
Where your word was not
And where every act and intent was couched
In arcane courtly decorum.
And soon they called me,
A thousand pointless names
For a stranger to this land,
A walker in a world that wasn’t meant
“Autism stole my child!” they’ve cried, like the
Ones who bemoaned theft by faeries long ago.
But if I am stolen, I am stolen
From a world of my kind, a world I’ll never belong to.
Nowadays, I have many names but
You may call me