Ode to a Mattress: the tale of a disgruntled and very sleepy princess

This here is my entry to the Merry Sisters of Fate's contest which is a written piece stemmed from this prompt:

The Princess and the Pea.  I chose an Ode.  Because I do love me some Odes.  Here goes.

Oh you pile of mattresses--

You're mocking me, taunting me with elusive sleep.

I lay all sweetly, with my arms all neatly crossed over my chest.  

Breath all zenlike and close my eyes.  

Ugh.  I toss and turn.

Counting sheep and rearranging covers on my reclined body.

One leg in, one leg out.

Dang.  Shouldn't've had that Diet Coke for dinner.  

I turn on my side, hoping for sleep to steal over me like that one girl,

what’s her name…

Oh yes, Sleeping Beauty.

Where, oh where is a loom with a sharp spindle thingy when you need one?

I flop on my stomach and stuff my face into my pillow.

Down feathers cram their way into my nose

causing a serious sneezing fit.

Exhausted, I lie on my back.

What is that?

Something is digging into my left shoulder blade.

I must find it.  I must find it now.

I must eradicate it, just like I did to that pimple on my forehead.

I climb on hands and knees towards the ladder

perched precariously against my stack of mattresses.

Swinging my legs around and climbing down

on bare toes totally makes me feel all gymnasticsy.

I pass each mattress on my downward trek, all twenty of them.

Quilts of various squashiness and sheets 

sticking out like lettuce on a sandwich.  

Man, I could go for a late night grilled cheese.

I reach the bottom and crouch down on the floor,

trying to peer into the cracks betwixt fabric and mattress.

Somewhere is a Thing.  Surely it’s an orange.

I must perform bedsheet surgery and locate It.

A Princess must have beauty sleep, after all.

At least, that's what Cosmo tells me.  

Not to mention the article about 14 ways to kiss a boy.

But that's another story.

I shove my arm between mattresses and grope with my fingers.

Aha!  There It is!

Grasping It between my fingers, I trap It in my vise of a hand,

draw It out.

It’s...a pea.

A tiny green pea.

What my mother, The Queen, would properly name as

an English Pea.  Because she's way proper like that.

What to do with The Thing?

I cross the room and place it on the windowsill.

It’s far away from my bed- er, beds.

Perhaps now I might get some stinking sleep.

I climb the ladder, toss myself on my pillow.

My eyes close and I slip off to the Land of Nod

and dream.

Of Prince William feeding me...peas.