Twenty Minute Commute

With the sun blinking between buildings
And the birds with their feathers soft aflight
I know the afternoon is safe; The day is almost done and you are next to me
and when you are next to me
I think it is enough to understand what I say out loud makes me a person
instead of a burden
slipping half-truths out of chewed lips
because I am just a person
even if i lie when i say i can handle it
and because the traffic is good and the sun is setting
I try to ignore the tremors in my palms
and because it is summer and the unfavorable memories are triggered by heat
I try to hold them at bay, hold myself together for 10 more minutes
and for 23 years i have waited for the weight to remove itself from my chest
the boulder of the burden of existing in a space
much too small
to fit all of me; here is where personhood is important
but mine is insecure
it fractures and crumbles
and i am spilling like the light between the leaves of that tree we used to picnic under
i know that the weight is getting lighter every day
i know it
because i made it home without shattering again