On Not Knowing How to Be a Person

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********************************************************************************I do not eat words for breakfast anymore.

Shoving it down,

burnt toast mantras.

Coffee too sweet, sticky fake sugar.

I search for god in the poetry section of the local library,

the bottom of the laundry basket,

the holes in my jeans,

attempts to find something to believe in.

I am nothing and I am everything, which is to say

I am nothing.

Phantom

and it aches.

Paves into a hollow empty echoing

Recollection of my tendency

To have hunger for everything.

Fingers gliding along my teeth

Sinking into fruit, scooping out all the mold,

A fuzzy, tender, emptying

Sinking into a need for reckoning.

Where is my reckoning?

Pleading

A need to be believed. 

I want answers.

I want meditation.

Where is my big revelation?