What Did I Do?

I live in worlds of fantasy, But people won’t just let me be. It’s not as if I damage things, Or try to fly without my wings. I only told them of my dreams: How every day’s not as it seems. I told them of my friend, the snail, That only made them quake and pale. I showed them all the things I’d made: The Trotterdam and Quisky-Plaid. I told them I’d been slobbered on, But by the very lovely one, That is to say the voice I’d heard, When whispered by a little bird. But the man that wore the coat Thought it best that I not gloat. I don’t know why he told me that, Or took me from my little flat, I don’t know why they took my view, I’m just as sane as all of you.