I, like many writers, don't spend one hundred percent of my time writing grand epics or fabulous tales. Sometimes I have to write smaller things, for the purpose of preserving a story idea for later or just as a way to sharpen my thinky bits.
A few of these will never be built upon, and that's okay. These are not all meant to become great things. Many of these will simply be forgotten altogether, and, while that hurts a bit, it's not a tragedy. Better for them to be remembered in spirit by a few rather than forgotten by me.
Many of these won't fit your definition of prose, and some may stretch your definition of poetry.

Explaination of the title:
If you do some background research on the changeling myths, you'll find that they were used to justify infinanticide against mentally difficient children. One of the disorders linked to the myth was phenylketonuria, which I have, and will have for the entirety of my life.
Thankfully, I am leading a normal (enough) life, and am proud to call myself my school's resident changeling. The way I see it, after mistreating my ancestors, and then teasing me for following my required diet, humanity owes me the rights to identify with whatever the changeling legend becomes.