L C Vieira
L C Vieira Poems
Mental Health Awareness Week
Oh, I'm aware. Too aware.
I wore my bright colors, my orange and golds,
the big yellow hat, closet greens unrolled.
I walked as a billboard to questions and stares,
promoting the week in the way that I dared.
I dared, but soon noticed that not all yet believe
the idea of ‘mental ‘ should be loud or be seen.
Loud or allowed, or improperly bold,
outside of the box, escaping the mold.
Is it mental when it cannot be contained,
the idea controlled or conventionally sane?
Must we still plan to hide it somewhere back at home
and speak in the ...
Three Thirty Nine A.M.
Three thirty-nine a.m.
A growing madness drowns the quiet,
heat humming through the vents,
the cold night mocking its attempt,
and I awake, still awake,
pound my pen to you.
Where does my practiced peace go in the night,
and all that contentment you talk about?