There is Nothing Good nor Bad But Thinking Makes it So

The red "V" on my forehead, my mom said,
indicated I was a changeling. Armed
with this knowledge, as others rustled
paper in elementary rooms, I contemplated
my own truth: a blue-star world of
feathered meadows and wild gifts. I
wandered, as my sylvan self, through
books tucked between pages of homework.

I sought to educate myself on my
lush familial home, with faeries as
radiant companions, romping in golden shadow.
I rode an ecstatic wave, destined to break
into briny pools. How was I to know
it was only a sparkling hotel of my making?

My animal friends flowed with me
across whisper seas of soft green velvet;
rescued me from forty-three months
of acute school boredom. How was I to know
this shining, jubilant journey, which had
reassured me in my innocence, that peaceful,
verdant world, would be robbed
of meaning, impugned
by a crimson singularity?
A collaboration of fire, words
that assessed my commitment: Hey,
nerd, what are you reading? And thus,
my elven universe
collapsed with a bang.

My sister sent me this list for the 50-word prompt earlier this month, but I didn't get in time to use it then. While that exercise called for us to use only the words that really spoke to us, in this case, I decided to challenge myself and use them all. Since my sister sent me very evocative, lyrical words, I thought immediately of a childhood books on faerieland, from which this poem stems.