Cake eater

I’m a Cake Eater

Breathe in the breath.

Take it in.

Breathe it out.

Breathe in.

Let it go.

Let it.

Let it.

Still… it lingers.

It’s like a thick layer of mud

caked onto my sagging heart.

Heavy.

Clinging.

Because if I feel it,

it might swallow me first.

So I should stuff it down.

If I swallow it,

I can stuff it down.

Down, down,

to the very pit

of my being.

But wait —

the pit starts asking questions.

Better get curious.

Let’s get clear about what it is.

Is it a thought? Is it a feeling?

Is it a habit? Is it a way of being?

Is it identity? Is it safety? Is it comfort?

Do I need it —

or does it need me?

Does it even exist

beyond my reflection?

I’m searching for lightness

while lingering in the shadows.

So bring light to the pit.

Let it shine.

And then I notice something strange —

I’m not swallowing the cake whole.

I’m eating it.

I’m a cake eater.

Not the whole cake at once,

just the dust.

The crumbs.

The little pieces

that fall away

from the larger thing.

Maybe that’s how this works —

not swallowing the whole darkness,

not pretending it isn’t there.

Just noticing the crumbs,

letting curiosity

pick them up

one at a time.

This body… it gets heavy.

But maybe freedom

isn’t throwing the cake away.

Maybe it’s learning

how to eat the dust.

(repeat, fading)

I’m a cake eater.

Just the dust.

Just the dust.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​