If you ever wonder, "Why is this guy so strange?" My name rhymes with screwy.
Forget the 70s, when people didn't care what they said to strangers...
You will never guess what I didn't know myself about who I was back then.
Or maybe you will guess correct, the times have changed, we seem to know more now.
Understanding others that don't fit in at bars or at social events...
Even if I told you my brother has a son who lives with autism...
V for Vendetta shows wit as our dad pronounced "V" sounds like "W".
Evan named both his sons with names starting with "V". My family, how droll.
Remember my nephews, now V1 and V2, for anonymity.
Wonder why this guy is so different, genetics, plain and simple, science.
Of course, in one family, two brothers are different unless identical.
No one spoke about things, how strange a gifted boy could do math in his head.
Didn't speak to no one, not much, hardly at all, didn't know Columbus...
Enter a test for kids who appear prodigious but fail for "Columbus".
"Rui Screwy," kids called the foreigner whose name rhymed with 'most everything.
"Why is this guy so strange?" They never asked themselves but exploited the fact.
Humans by nature are strangers unto themselves, they don't want to know why.
Yes, hereditary shows a mutation exists in any given line.
If you ask me, the truth of the matter appears in how inconsistent...
Strange is as strange becomes, through no fault of my own, I, too, was autistic.
The fact remains, I was never diagnosed, so the gloves were off for all.
However, I am not autistic as no one gave their diagnosis.
In this world, a Buddha is only a Buddha if someone says she is.
Someone being El Cid, the Lord or Champion, usually, a man.
Given today's climate, the world has heated up, so women are El Cid.
Unless, of course, I am mistaken. I am strange, I admit my mistakes.
Yes, even this poem may be a mistake, too, though no one will read it.
Still, I apologize to my nephews and mom, who are all still alive.
Of my older brother and his beautiful wife, I can say you were blessed.
Strange, I never had kids, my ex-wife didn't want to get pregnant with me.
Tragic, to be alive with no offspring, no one to say "Rui Screwy".
Rui, a name given to me by my mother, a Portuguese Goan.
As names go, to pronounce "R" to sound like an "H" from the back of the throat...
Not hard like in Russian, but a sweet, light letter, a phoneme with two wings.
Granted, I was "Hooie" to no one as a kid, not even to myself.
Enter America, where they can't pronounce "shit", so they say "crap" instead.
My mom gave me my name, maybe my dad couldn't pronounce it as well as...
Yes, wonders never cease, "V for Wendetta" shows how our dad pronounced "V".
Names are strange, mine means "fame, rule". I will never be famous as a ruler.
As my middle name is Carlos, meaning "free man", as I have never felt...
My last name means "kitchen", or "wedge", all things depend on where you look to learn.
Even as a young man, I was quiet and shy, reserved...and ignorant.
"Rui Screwy", the rhyme I heard throughout childhood marked me as a moron.
How do I fight the world...with fire? I wonder how to set the house ablaze.
Yes, little arsonist, a pyromaniac, never diagnosed, though.
My father beat the flames from within my body. I hated Chemistry.
Enter high school, I was stoned and out of my mind by my third year, the drugs...
Stupid is as stupid does, smoke dope, drop acid, drummer in a punk band.
Window to the future, I became a writer who never got published.
If I could figure out what to say, how to say it right, I'd not be poor.
The tragedy of life is we play characters in roles we didn't choose.
How Hollywood decides our place, the Big Picture, like Big Brother, fiction.
"Screwy Rui", works both ways for most little kids, but I stopped being me.
Catatonic in hell, an insane asylum, at twenty-one, no fun.
Really wiped the board clean, I tried to be less strange, studied logic, got clean.
Even tried to join up with The Marines, my bad, and I apologize.
Winners aren't born to fail, strangers remain strangers until they make some friends.
Yes, I fucked up my life but I survived to write about a little boy.
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