Page 111

One group

Two groups

Your group

My group

We all lose

That’s the trick—something was never meant to be, why you stand tall?

What if standing is what made you fall—made you lose it all

What if you were forced to stand before you were ready—does seeking your peace trample on my free speech

That’s the trick—something is trying to make you sick

Sick of those who don’t look like you

Sick of those who do look like you

Sick of justice and freedom for all

Because— that’s the trick, freedom without exceptions was never meant for y’all.

Don’t stand for something—stand for one thing—seeing the world thrive, no longer caught in the global divide.”

The room erupts with clapping and snapping. “She was fucking awesome,” Jade shouts over the noise and I nod my agreement.

A few more poets perform, some sultry, while others are political. There’s a great blend of artists that take the stage.

“I’m so glad you were able to make it,” I hear the deep, familiar timbre of Mason’s voice.

He begins to sit when Paisley hops up from beside me. “This seat is open,” she says, smirking as she passes me, and I both want to love and kill her for this.

“Y’all did an amazing job,” I murmur, peeking up to see a warm smile.

Mason lowers his head until his mouth is by my ear. Sparks shoot up my spine at his nearness. I can smell the spicy scent of his cologne and the minty freshness of his breath. “Thank you, kindly. We’re happy to please you,” he whispers, and I have to clench my thighs to prevent myself from giving the crowd a public performance they’ll never forget. I want this man and his brother.

Before I can wrap my brain around what’s happening between us, the other part of the duo takes the stage.

Liam has changed into a pair of ripped, black denim jeans, brown shoe boots, and a black blazer with a white button-down shirt.

This man needs to be on the cover of GQ.I don’t know if it’s fair to the rest of the human race to be that level of fine.

I devote my attention to where Liam stands, not wanting to miss one word. Liam surveys the room before he begins.

“Regrets are the ashes of dreams unrealized—the hope to push past what haunts you before forcing you to your knees.

Buried deep in the marrow of your bones, it takes root, aiming to make despair your prison—home.

Don’t fertilize it with the pain of what ifs and what could never bes— it will swallow you whole with endless glee.

For despair will turn to fear

And fear—fear will tell you it’s your cross alone to bear

While those who never truly cared will point and stare, celebrating your downfall in raucous cheers