Three Poems

Ashley Factor

My Ex Best Friend: a Zuihitsu

At 2 am I waited for each tick on the clock to move. I was in agony. I wanted to sleep. I wanted the pain to disappear. My muscles ached like I was just cut into and repaired, but I was never operated on. 

Each year I grieve the loss of my birthday. 

I carefully watched children, slightly terrified, rolling down a soggy hill covered in fresh green grass, drowning in giggles. Wet beads slithered down my cold cheeks. 

Just stop overthinking it. I felt that innocence once. 

Cell phones repetitively buzzed. Today was mine. Anyone that knew anyone knew it was mine. 

She looked me in the eyes when passing in the hallway; I packed her gaze carefully in a corrugated cardboard box, making sure it was protected in a healthy layer of bubble wrap.

I climbed the chain linked fence though there was sharp barbed wire at the top. I didn’t care; the pain of the wire piercing into my flesh would hurt less than the burning of my intestines ever would. 

For I couldn’t stop thinking, and I wished so hard that I could. That night when I blew out a red flame on the pink and purple striped candles sitting on my birthday cake, I manifested my mind to be at peace. 

The shoes I wore on my feet were brand new. The sneakers, a crisp white shade, hadn’t been anywhere before: completely pure. A magenta loophole rested around the back of my ankle. 

However, none of it mattered. I would feel empty tomorrow. 

I couldn’t decide if my ears were actually broken or if they just stopped working temporarily. 

Burning carbon dioxide escaped from my breath coming from a fire ignited in my chest. My insides were inflamed.

I wanted my puzzle to be complete, the one we started together. I searched frantically for a long time in search of where the missing puzzle piece went, but it was long gone. 

I locked the brown cardboard box in a fluorescent orange UHAUL unit. I threw the key in the trash. 

“I like your shoes.” 

The taste of the frosting on my birthday cake was rich and decadent. It was the most creamy sweet buttercream that complimented the moist vanilla cake so well. 

I lifted up the cushions on the couch praying the piece was underneath the seams of where the cushions met the wood frame.

All things must pass. 

I got those shoes for my birthday, but they weren’t special. Not until then. 

Over a long, long, long time I stopped looking for the puzzle piece, but it was never forgotten. 

I made it to the top of the fence, where the small knives punctured my skin. I kept trying to force myself over, though the more I forced it, the more my skin kept getting caught and tortured. 

My mind was tricking me, once again. 

On Listening to Your Peers Say “All Jews Must Die"

You didn’t think there was hate left. 

There was. There still is. 

You were immature and oblivious,

but you didn’t know that at the time. 

Don’t envision the world as a changed place. 

Don’t let the violence play rent free in your head,

over and over, 

constantly, without pause.

You were a frightened bull, 

seeking allies trapped in the middle of a chanting arena. 

Don’t be inoperative. You should fight back,

kick, scream, charge like an angry bull 

use the chanting arena as fuel. 

You were called names that you didn’t know still existed. 

Some names you think of when you imagine

your great, great grandparents and how lucky they were

to escape before it was too late.

Don’t expect that the terrorists won’t hit you

with the wish upon death to

yourself, your family, “your people.” 

Do not let your head get heavy

and unclear, don’t let your eyes fill

with salty ocean water, 

don’t let your ears block out the screams

designed to frighten you,

make sure your vision isn’t unclear,

as it wouldn’t be implausible for them to shove

the Nazi salute in your face. 

You’ll feel a surge of deep hatred. 

Tell them they’re in the wrong era, tell them

they’re vicious, tell them

they have transformed into uncontrollable monsters. 

Rent free the scene plays in your head, but the lease is up,

you used to claim that you would store it for a day when you figure out

what you should have said

during the bullfight.

Today that day came, you know

what you should’ve said, but the raid is 

long over.  

Nonetheless, you’ll never be free

from the idea of what you should have said,

no matter if you were to win or lose. 

Ode to Restlessly Overthinking 

We forgive you for turning yourself into

a hungry night wild,

frantically hunting for prey that sorrowfully couldn’t score

because of her cemented paws. 

We forgive you for the pain

in your eyes even after living up to the all

or nothing promise you made. 

We forgive you for always

preparing too much

for an unknown feasible collapse,

and the destructive sirens

you designed blasting

in your head to the point 

of insomnia. 

When we asked how much water

you had left in your simple glass, 

we forgive you for replying with a pathetic “half empty.” 

We forgive you that you worried

us by telling everyone there was no

guarantee a heartbeat would ever stop 

racing after running a 26 mile marathon. 

We forgive you for making us feel 

like we did something to agitate you

to this extent,

it’s not easy seeing you so miserably 

on edge and out of hand. 

We have to forgive you for running

yourself in endless loops

around a never ending track,

in hopes of getting the answers

you were begging and pleading for, 

that were just openly lost.

We know you’re helpless and struggling, 

though there is hope, 

that the lost answers

could help with a happy ending. 

For the first time, we’re sorry that you’ll never find

those answers,

and that you’ll never know 

if they were part of the happy ending,

or if they weren’t. 

Wrapping it all up, we do commend you

or all you put yourself through, 

to overthink means to overcare and overlove, 

and that is an absolute gift. 

Ashley Factor is an 11th grade student here at CHS and is involved in many things here such as Cheerleading, National Honor Society, Canton Character Crew, the Student Wellness Advisory Group, and lots more. Ashley enjoys writing and considers it a way she can express herself and the experiences she has faced. She has recently been admitted into National English Honor Society where she will continue her love for writing and literature!