Digital illustration of a centered person in a crouched position with fire to the left of the illustration and a heart to the right of the illustration.

A visual showcase of the feeling of being so lost and angry that one's heart is "ripped out" and it seems as if the world is on fire. (Illustration by Isabelle Tran)

Creative Writing

Poem: Rushing Voices

Spilling out from every crevice of society Dark red tendrils choking the necks of the Black and the Brown, Of the Indigenous, of the Latinx, of the folx who are Transgender   And I’m screaming, my voice hoarse and until the white fist renders Me useless   And I’m spilling blood but I don’t know…
<a href="https://highschool.latimes.com/author/isabelletranb85e785bae/" target="_self">Isabelle Tran</a>

Isabelle Tran

August 25, 2021

Spilling out from every crevice of society

Dark red tendrils choking the necks of the Black and the Brown,

Of the Indigenous, of the Latinx, of the folx who are Transgender

 

And I’m screaming, my voice hoarse and until the white fist renders

Me useless

 

And I’m spilling blood but I don’t know it

Until I turn around and there they are

Face contorted in betrayal

“How could you” and “who are you” is written all over their faces

I can’t look at them 

Because who am I

 

I look now

Really look

I am Thai, Vietnamese and Chinese,

Not one-third each like some flour measurement but wholly the three of them

And my favorite flower is the Tan Hua, by the way

I am a queer woman of color

I am a citizen with an acceptable accent

And my voice is amplified tenfold over the Black and Indigenous

 

They have been screaming and silenced long before I was screaming out of my mother’s body

And even then

I was louder than all of them put together

 

I look up

Because that’s what I do when I feel hopeless

 

But all I see are tall black hats and ebony fingers

Claws

They sit on their throne of currency up in the clouds

But the current flowing down only gets more contaminated until it is

Undrinkable and

Indiscernible from

The cruel abyss that are the eyes where the corruption started

 

And currently

I’m clawing at my own throat and blinking my clouded eyes

The neck of the bottle too narrow and too long to see the end

The bottle shakes as the alcohol rushes past, carrying our voices with it

I watch it disappear down the throat of the money man

 

I hope it burns