Sleeping man, Sleepless girl

As I have said, I really enjoy playing with poetry form. This particular poem is called a Sestina. A Sestina is characterized by the repetition of the initial six end words throughout the rest of the poem. I find that creating structure in a poem can help me reach peak creativity. I was inspired by this poem observing relationships around me and from my own previous relationships.

Sleeping man, Sleepless girl 
by Katherine Racine


Somehow, in this pale, spotless room 
I find a way to nearly drift to sleep
The blankets are stiff though, uncomfortable
And I focus on them, I toss over and over
It would have been nice to finally find rest
It must have been three days since I’ve dreamed

It was winter last time I dreamed
And now the spring seeps into the room
And I wail to the emptiness, I just want rest!
People hardly realize the necessity of sleep
Its just an action that happens over and over
When its gone though, it’s more than uncomfortable

All I want is for YOUR soul to be uncomfortable
I’ve seen you sleepless. It’s something I’ve dreamed
I construct it in my head. I see it over and over
I hope to see you red eyed in an empty room
With no one to comfort your lack of sleep
With just you and your brain dwelling on rest

But I know that miles away you cling to rest
And that truly you are the furthest from uncomfortable
Hours longer than days perhaps you have spent in sleep
Hills, suns, and red gorgeous female lips you have dreamed
Your precious head floats to the pillow in your dark room
Your head must be silent for you sigh happy over and over

I remember nights with you over and over
You to my left, I was so close with rest
Soft bed, bunched blankets, actually I hated that room
Yes I hated it. Its warmth was terribly uncomfortable
And everything was too bright in my dream
Come to think of it I was too familiar with sleep

But now in the pale, empty room I beg for sleep
Its relief runs through my head over and over
I can’t really remember the last time dreamed
And my hands are shaking for the touch of rest
I think I blame you for being uncomfortable
I blame you for holding my heart in your room

I suppose I should not think of you or dwell on rest
Maybe it won’t come if it knows I’m uncomfortable
But this place hurts, I feel like I have no room