Another Pile of Shit
I am not my poem, I am not my words,
I am a spiritual entity, manifested in physical form
My work is my excess, my glorious fodder;
my spiritual shit. Glorious though, some of this shit may
be, it is but a glimpse of the awesomeness of being;
the untold presence felt when near; the jowel shaking
laughter and the moments of joyous reverie; the frustrated
“what-the-fuck” when I, often, act a fool.
I am complicated, I am real, I am Kyle
I’ve been thinking here the past few days, I am of a mind to begin a foundation, a support network for those suffering from a TBI. Broader and more in-depth than any foundation out there, because I, suffering from a TBI received 14 years ago am lucky to have had the support i did and still do from my family. I want to reach out to families and survivors to let them know that it is okay and while yes, TBI is a largely unknown field as far as predictions and just knowing what the human mind is capable of, I want to offer a helping hand and guidance beyond a voluntary support group ran mostly by people who don’t know and haven’t experienced an injury of such proportions. ’til then, adieu.