I met Thalia aka BabyGirl at a Bushwick art party. She did an impromptu performance of this poem, pulled the air out of the room, and outshined all the paintings on the wall.

LMZ

What Is It To Be Here?

Is it the memories of being wanted,

Of being accepted?

Do you even know my name?

Because I don’t even know my name.

I know what they call me.

I know the sound.

What is it to be who I am when every day is something new?

What is here?

Is it the yearning and the desire to be remembered?

To feel the connection between you and me?

Or is it us?

Because there’re so many different parts of where I am.

Sometimes I’m afraid to be here.

Sometimes I’m afraid to be there and sometimes I fear what is before me.

So many times I’ve said to myself: I will be brave.

I won’t think of all those experiences that hold me back and held me down.

Well, I gave you my number and I gave you my time.

How come I haven’t got a reply?

Yeah, I’ve learned to hold my tears inside because what are tears when no one cares?

What is it to be here?

Is it the time? Is it the feeling? Or, is it the meaning?

I have tried to be noticed in so many different ways, my clothes; things that I say.

In my mind, I don’t even want to stay.

Sometimes it’s just about how far I can go before I give up.

I don’t even know how to get up.

I’m not even sure where that would be or how that would go.

All that I know is that I’m looking for who I am.

I want you to call me by my name; I just don’t know what that is.

Sometimes I feel like a lonely girl and that I can conquer the world.

It just depends on where I’m at.

And,

If I am here…