New Jeanland

Their eyes flicker, fleeting as sparks,
Voices hum, distant winds in the dark.
Fingers graze my skin, but leave no trace,
I’m surrounded by faces, yet lost in space.

Laughter ripples, a fragile dream.
Your silence is sharper than it seems.
They map my form like explorers of stone.
While you remain a quiet storm unknown.

Words scatter like petals torn apart,
Fragments of a bloom, never touching the heart.
Your glance, fleeting, is a different ache—
A tether pulling where others break.

I wear a crown of glass, fragile and thin,
Adored by many, yet fractured within.
They call me beautiful. It leaves me cold.
The one I crave stays out of my hold.

I’m seen by the wrong eyes, their gaze slips through,
A thousand hands reach; none touch the truth.
Your shadowed smile holds secrets untold,
A quiet rebellion in a world too bold.