
She goes through boxes she locked away
She locked them away because she felt they were landmines
She feels over the ink that covers the papers from those years
She lets her hands feel over everything
She closes her eyes
She was so scared then
She is older now
In those old places locked in plain sight
That is where she goes to sit with her thoughts
No guests have been invited for tea because she now knows how people tend to be
People will bring you flowers after and rarely ever before
People will say they want to connect with you, and then break you after the connection is made because they were broken before
People can never just let a flower be
The only attendees she needs at this gathering, are the ones that matter
So there she sits, with her shadow, sunlight and dust
She opens her eyes
She was so scared then
She is free now
(You can listen to the audio version below on Twitter)
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I like hearing why our clients select what they select from us. I like listening to why a particular piece has to go home with a client. I think people, as themselves, minus all we think we have to be, are interesting. So I wrote this for all of those that stop by our booths. I wrote it for those that have such depth to them, but no one to share it with in a meaningful way that will allow them peace while passing through this place. Some days it feels like stumbling upon unsettled dust. Those brief interactions are authentic, beautiful and priceless to me. I feel like certain purchases and pieces are the loud speaker and audience most of us never get to have in this life, wrapped neatly in one.
Old Places
— EmiliaSpeaks (@EmiliasSongs) March 5, 2021
Written: 04th March 2021
Recorded: 04th March 2021
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We write
We record
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We are griots from The Eastern Shores that hide amongst trees no more
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