I'm so tiny I can't hold myself

We live in a little house

with a rusty roof and a nonexistent window. 

We sleep side by side barely moving,

for its capacity is smaller than the bathroom of the rich. 

It fits a total of eight people

four kids still struggling to walk, 

and our dog

- dogs. 

We live in a little house 

with a toilet 

and a sink for washing hands,

vegetables,

meat,

and brushing teeth. 

We have plants

that are thirsty for water 

because water, a basic need, 

is more expensive than my shoes. 

We live in a little house

and we are happy

and contented

because they said, "its the little things that matter" 

and I have a complete family 

despite our almost empty plates.

We live in a little house

and yes, we go to the mall

once a month 

we stroll 

take photos

shop with our eyes

eat a little

and go back home.

I always wished I stayed there forever, 

because it is cold there

and they have shiny floors.

We live in a little house

and sometimes my dreams fight for space

and I leave at night

just so I could move

hoping to meet sober faces

climb sturdy ladders

until I'm at the moon

only watching the aswangs

and manananggals

eat their dirty souls 

just like how they described ours. 

I'm always disappointed though.

It's always us.

and its easier to blame ourselves for this fate

our empty cases of bottles

our mess of a place

our stupid stomachs

and our lazy asses - even if we have callouses on every other part of our bodies.

We live in a little house

with a DIY table out of our neighbor's old sofa

we are resourceful to make bedframes out of used matchsticks 

and sew pillowcases out of dresses full of holes

- donation, assistance, given by my older cousins. 

We are strength personified, 

inspiration to the sitting people.

resilient but silenced. 

victims of vague justice. 

I live in a little house,

without the capability to run around,

to lie down with my arms and legs wide open. 

Sounds like a prison.

but that night

it felt as if our house was bigger

to be able to hold a dozen of blue people

and to be a cemetery at the same time.

Its easier to blame ourselves for not buying a doorbell

and a lock

that would've kept our doors shut tight. 

It's easier to blame our recklessness for our misfortune

and accept that this world is cruel

others are just born lucky to be free.

Maybe in my next life, 

my dreams would be able to sit at my window

and I would see my reflection on my tiled floors. 

Maybe our house would be able to hold ten then.