Up In Flames

Chapter 2

Azariya gravitated toward the poetry crew, her skirt flowing with her body as she sashayed to the dimmed half of the building. Her body disappeared in the crowd. My eyes moved instead of my feet, my eyesight proving that at least in one way, I lived up to Azariya.

I wasn't an envious woman, but I was still human. Azariya's presence told me I could admire someone and still be at least a tad bit jealous. That was my Achilles heel.

The woman on the small stage was as dark as the night with no stars and a sliver of a moon. Her golden sister locs hung below her shoulders and down her back. Those beauties were years in the making. Her eyes were large and round, like an American Girl doll's and she had thick lips genetically applied only to the melanated. Her outfit barely covered her body, her hips bursting from the open seams of her skirt. Her top mirrored the same open seams, displaying the valley between her breasts. The eyes inside watched her body while the ears listened to her powerful, gut-punching message.

Blackest bodies fall
America don't love you
Hidden in plain sight

Stolen from my roots
Here I yearn for motherland skies
Sheba take me home

All of her was compelling. Her energy was potent like a homemade elixir from the depths of the motherland where there held no mailboxes, where there were communities right up under the nose, and everyone that had ever been loved or would ever be loved were right on top of one another. She was too much, but there weren't espressos strong enough to peel our eyes and ears away from her.

My legs took me to her, as close as I could get. That wasn't very close. It seemed that everyone had been inside my head and they gravitated to her as well. The room began to swell and sweat. Words held weight. The passion behind those words were all-powerful. It all depended on what the worder wanted the wordee to feel.

This one woman that had been handpicked from the middle of the sand had people from shades of polar bears to coal feeling her energy, feeling her finesse. Azariya had disappeared from my eyesight only to place herself in tunnel vision of the black beauty with the strong words and undeniable vibe. Powerful women flocked to powerful women. I had never seen Azariya flock before.

She stopped speaking for longer than ten seconds and the crowd around her fell into gentle snaps of awe. Clapping and whooping and screaming and yelling wasn't invited in this environment. It was about something higher, something better, something that gave people the second thought to think.

She was like a celebrity in this world. Her geese flocked to her while the stage simmered from that fiery hot performance. Azariya was fervent, couldn't contain her enthusiasm. They had met before, or Azariya had met her, and she was a devoted fan of the brief and indisputably beautiful poetry. Azariya's body language revealed her.

I followed Azariya close enough to hear their conversation, but the story their bodies told was a lot more interesting. They stood close to one another, looked one another in the eyes, and neither of them knew what to do with their hands. They were nervous.

"Galore.."

I heard her name and she became more real to me. The feelings became more real. Azariya was smitten. More of her life was becoming a vivid picture instead of incoherent blurs.

"You were so good up there," Azariya spoke with amazement.

"Thank you ZZ."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be up front, I was here with my friend when I heard your voice."

Galore smiled a smile that told me that she didn't care about her not being up front, all she cared about was the fact that Azariya had showed up. Galore's teeth were perfectly straight and perfectly white, pointed directly at her lighter shaded lover.