Teddy Dondanville

That Which Runs Without Us, Runs Within Us. We Are But Products, Of Our Environment.

From up on high, the ascendants cry,   of happiness and truth, here they are young as youth. All is temporary, they cannot be stationary. Descend, the ascendants of the peak....

To the ground, I am found. Beaten, Eaten…Alive. No words can be spoken. My tears-­­ they have awoken. Frowning, Drowning…Alive.

This is me, I am but a tree. With my roots in the ground, I am able to grow round. Through the winter cold, until the river runs bold. My branches...

The earth jumps alive with every step. The wind reminds us of our breath. The sun lights the way.   With music…in perpetual sway.

At the feet of giants, I am born. Forever torn. At the feet of giants, I grow. To this world I must show. At the feet of giants, I acquire. Knowledge....

Forsaken… taken… for granted. These seeds that have been planted, By me…for me? Which is me? The scholar? Or do they have me by the collar? I swell with frustration and...

Like my heart, my knee rests in two. As two pieces flow free, I lose track of that which is me. Speed and fluidity turn to greed and atrocity while independence...

When I think about trying to describe myself to other people, I feel as if making a list would be the easiest option. Then again, subsuming my entirety into a single...