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Kiara Malig Jul 7
Nagdurugo na ang aking gilagid sa paulit-ulit na paghiling na ika’y manatili,
At ikaw naman ay nariyan lamang habang pinapanood ako patayin ang aking sarili.
Dahil sayo, alam ko na kung bakit sinasabi nila na walang pinipili ang pag-ibig,
Pinabayaan kasi kitang ibaon ang iyong matatalim na salita sa aking bibig.
Dahil sayo, nawala na ang inakala kong katotohan,
Ang natira na lamang ay ang sinumulan **** kaguluhan.

Sabi nila, ang nabigo raw ay hindi nagpapabigo ulit,
Edi bakit sandamakmak na ang mga bubog na nagpadugo sa aking gilagid?
Ako naman din ang nagpakaduwag,
Na ang silbi lang ay sumagot sa iyong mga tawag,
Kaya nga siguro hindi ko napansin na nauubos na pala ako—
Na inuubos mo na pala ako.

Tinatanong ko parin ang aking sarili,
Kung bakit hanggang ngayon, ako parin ay nananatili.
Patuloy parin ang gilagid ko’y nagdurugo,
Gaano katagal na lamang bago madudurog ang aking puso?
Kiara Malig Dec 2018
I am what people expect me to be-
A paper crane in the never-ending rain,
A silk handkerchief folded into parts,
A broken vase with no flowers in it,
An elephant walking on a tightrope.
I ‘m what seems like soft edges,
But don’t make the mistake of believing that.

My paper skin cuts,
My silk finds its way to your neck,
My broken pieces are the reason I am whole,
And my weight only brings down people like you.
Don’t you ever make the mistake of thinking otherwise.

You haven’t seen the storm,
You haven’t witnessed the terror,
The horror,
The lives lost,
And the homes broken.

I have cultivated my being for years,
I am who I choose to be.
Kiara Malig Nov 2018
Isn’t it funny how emotions change so many times?
Isn’t it funny how they’re able to play with your heartstrings without question?

Sometimes, I listen to my heart beat.
Thud.
         Thud.
                   Thud.
As if it is an alarm clock that rings every minute,
reminding me I am alive.

Other times, I’d rather make the beating stop,
I’d rather plunge my fist into my chest,
And tell it to stop loving,
Tell it to stop breaking,
Tell it to stop beating,
Stop.
         Stop.
                 Stop.

Isn’t it funny how emotions have learned to own us?
Kiara Malig Oct 2018
One day, I decide I’m too broken to exist,
I’m more ‘cracks’ than ‘girl’,
I’m too much of nothing and severely lacking in everything.
I forget that my heart holds escape exits,
I forget that feet run for a reason,
I forget that hands burn if you touch fire.
It kills me that I forget things that could’ve saved me from reckless abandon.

One day, I decide I’m too broken and I need help.
I ask an amateur magician to please piece me back into something more than this porcelain doll,
He says, ‘Sweetheart, I’ll try.’
I sit patiently as he cuts me all over, and brings out all his tricks,
But I end up even more broken than I already was.
I say I’m sorry for bothering him at all,
As if it was my fault,
As if it was my fault clay was meant to be played around with in unsteady hands.

One day, I decide I’m too broken and I decide I need to fix myself.
That day, I steal all types of tools from the hospital ambulance,
And from there, I decided to write over my mistakes instead of erasing them.
I decide that my being is no longer up for argument,
I decide that the best way I know to fix myself is to reject hands that tremble,
Is to fight fire with hellfire,
Is to make what was into what should be and burn the rest of it.

One day, I learn to fix myself.
I learn that trees cannot be put down,
If they just stood tall enough.
the broken are the empowered
Kiara Malig Oct 2018
Purpose has never been an easy concept
For someone like me,
Because I-
the candle had just one.
I was to hold your fire,
I was told to contain it,
I was told that it doesn’t matter what happens to me in the end,
What matters is you keep warm,
And calm,
And everything I was supposed to be.

You liked me a lot,
You said it was because I held ambition,
I didn’t burn easily,
I still had a lot of fight left.

I felt better about myself,
Until I felt myself fade away.
Until I melted and burned out,
Until all that was left was hot wax.
Till there was no more spark,
No more flame,
No more smoke.
No more waxy glances and midnight warmth,
No more cascading hot tears and broken wicks,
No more of what I used to call myself.

I hope you hurt as much as I did,
I hope one day you know what it feels like to be ignited
And not know how to stop burning.
Burning isn’t easy when hot wax drips on the floor
Kiara Malig Oct 2018
I keep forgetting that I am me.
That I am ‘Kiara’,
Smart and immature and competitive and deeply flawed and conceited and shallow.
With no actual purpose.
A being meant to only convey emotions ‘I’ would.
I keep forgetting that I can’t be reckless,
I keep forgetting that I can’t be brave.
That I can’t just one day decide to snap and break no matter how much I want to,
So I sink.

I think of it as a dream, one I cannot escape,
And do not want to escape at the same time.
Pinching myself doesn’t make it any less of a dream,
But I keep doing it to comfort myself.
I keep forgetting that I am supposed to be me.

Sometimes, when my mind gets lost in the storm,
And the thoughtless sails have broken off,
I sit motionless, waiting for the next command,
except I am wearing the captain’s clothes,
Yet I command no one.
As if my body, my being is no act of resilience, instead, a vessel I am not allowed to control.
Here, I stand still. Here, I keep waiting.
Kiara Malig Aug 2018
You see, the meaning of it,
Has now changed
What once calmed the seas,
Now causes harsh waves.

There is always two meanings to it
One which holds equality dear,
Which carries it upon steady hands,
Which carries it upon those who have fought, and fought, and fought.
And then, there’s another.
It’s the one we see on the news,
It’s the one not wanting equality,
But the sameness of all,
We are all equal, I believe,
but we are not the same.

The definition has changed so much,
On the tongues of those who speak of vile things,
On the articles of those who wish it had not dawned in such wary times,
On everything.
The definition ought to keep peace,
The definition ought to be applied and kept real,
The definition ought to remain the same.
When I call myself a feminist,
I mean it in the realest sense.
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