"Baring Out." Written By : Lovon P.

I pace back and forth, feeling the pressure build as the crowd’s energy buzzes like static in the air. “I’m here to raise the bar like I’m in competition with Beyoncé, Elon Musk; show I’m better, that’s a must!” I mutter under my breath, but something’s off. Nah, I can say that better. I erase it from my phone. No competition; they not comprehending the way these bars come with ease.

 I’ll smash this cornball head into a lima bean; bring your team, line them up please, and I’ll lay your whole army down before you can say at ease!The words flow, but it’s not enough. The roar of the crowd outside seeps through the walls, making it impossible to think straight. My heart’s pounding in my chest, each thud louder than the last. I take a deep breath, but I need more.

 Another line forms in my head, this one hitting harder: "Easy money the way I’m out of pocket, insurance for his body after I FIND WHAT'S IN YOUR WALLET! HE GON NEED JEHOVAH, JESUS, ALLAH, AND A PROPHET, AND IF YOU WANT ME TO SPARE HIM, SEND A PROFIT!!"Yeah, that’s better. But nerves still creep in. I need to clear my head. Stepping outside, I reach for a blunt, but my hands are shaky.

 I fumble, dropping some of the weed on the sidewalk. Just as frustration begins to rise, my right hand—my blood brother—walks up. A1 Jen, AKA A1 General, is always there when I need him most. Cool, collected, not flashy like me, but always in my corner.“Yo brodie, you ready to cook, dude!?” he asks, his energy lighting up the moment.“

Hell yeah, it’s about to be crazy,” I reply, the adrenaline kicking in. "We got like two minutes before it’s time for this!"Jen gives me that solid nod of assurance. He’s got my back like always, steady and grounded. I’m dressed simple—black hoodie, black Timbs. I might not look flashy, but I’m hungry.“

You ready for this, KeymastaLO?” my brother asks, locking eyes with me.I take a deep breath, exhale, and hit the blunt one last time before stepping back inside. As we walk toward the crowd, the energy shifts. People move aside, making space as I head toward the center. 

My nerves? Gone. Now it’s just me and the bars.The announcer stands in the middle, shades on, Rick Ross beard in full effect. His grin says it all: this is about to be a showdown. He raises the mic to his lips.

 “Y’ALL READY?!”The crowd erupts, shaking the room. I feel the tension crackling like electricity. The announcer points to us. “We got KEYMASTALO AKA KML VS TRADE $3NTER!!!

 WE FLIPPED THE COIN; FIRST ROUND ON TRADE $3NTER, LET'S GET IT!!”Trade $3nter steps up, and the dude looks clean. He’s dripped out in an all-white True Religion jacket, gold-stripe hoodie, Gucci/Supreme belt, and matching pants. Man looks like a walking fashion show. But none of that matters right now—this is about bars, not clothes. And before I can even blink, he blacks out.“

I’m up early at your place, make you break fast, two face slices, put a dent in him and make him face that. Your face cracked like a glass jaw bishop in Juice if I got the last straw! K IS Going to get a K, and ima off him, while I wear this Louis. Bigger than the man that made juicy send you Coolie High after getting outclassed by my fist. This not civil, this a diss, have the cuff wrist untwist then you get a facelift, FACE SHIFT FROM MY WEAPON.

 GIVE ME SPACE OR LEAVE IN SECTIONS, KEMASTALO WAS QUIET IN THE STREETS BUT ALWAYS GOOD IN TEKKIN, STRAIGHT TO YOUR ADDRESS IF WE GET THE ADDRESSIN'! BARS!!”The crowd goes nuts. It’s loud. Too loud.

 My heart skips a beat, and for a moment, fear grips me. This man just spit fire, and the crowd ate it up. I haven’t even said a word yet, and already, I can hear the boos bubbling up, waiting to explode.But I can’t let that happen. I’m not about to go out like that.“AYOH!”

 I shout, cutting through the noise. “I’m not going out like that, but I’m about to go off. You’re about to have your little fashion show shown off WHEN I take it from YAH!”The crowd quiets down. They’re listening now.“You want it, but it’s mine; no take backs.

 PUT MY FIST TO YOUR FACE, THEN THE FLOOR; YOU’RE GOING TO FACE THAT! All SAID AND DONE, THERE NOT GOING TO KNOW WHERE YOUR FACE AT!”Now I’ve got their attention.“ I’m too hungry; I need this, pain, sweat, I bleed this. I’m walking out of here with a W; you're walking out, saying good MATCH!

 SPAZZING, MY MICROPHONE CHECK WHEN IT’S AT YOUR NECK YEAH, YOUR FIT, aight, BUT YOH FLOW’S NOT THE BEST. UP ONE, WHAT'S NEXT!!”The crowd erupts. I hear the words “Good match” echoing somewhere in the back, but I’m focused. My brother, cool and calm, steps up beside me, eyes gleaming with pride.“

Man, you up one bro,” he says quietly, but I can hear the conviction in his voice. And just like that, I know it—I’m ready for the next round.