Sleepless night.
Pacing.
Leg bouncing.
Fingers twitching.
A busy mind.
A quiet time.
The kids,
my wife,
asleep.
The dog watches,
nosy,
she follows me.
But she’s tired.
She wishes I’d go to bed.
Napping when I sit still.
I wish I’d go to bed too.
Asleep, next to my wife.
Sounds wonderful.
But I’d toss,
I’d turn.
I’d think,
and stir.
So I pace.
I watch the news.
And most importantly,
I write.
Poetry
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I’m glad that writing poetry might be helping you, or at least giving you something to kill time with when it’s hard to sleep. It’s hard to find things that truly help, but you’re honestly really good at getting to the core experience of insomnia. I’ve had bad nights and this sums up the feelings better than I could describe myself.