The Ice Queen’s Mask: Facing the Monster Within 👑🖤

If you’ve ever felt like there’s a version of yourself you keep locked away, this piece will resonate with you. Continuing our journey through the Story Time Productions archives, I’m pulling out a poem I wrote during my late teens (around 17–18).

Looking back at 33, I can see the "monster" for what it really was: a defense mechanism. We often build walls—or crowns—inside us to protect the parts of us that were once "too soft to forget." 🥀

The Poem: "The Monster Inside" 📜

There is a monster inside me. I hide her behind a mask; you can call her a fantasy. Sometimes I wish the voices would set me free. A vain wish, so I pretend it really is a fantasy. Nothing but a story, where I can’t say ‘be mine.’ Where I can’t say ‘I wish you were my valentine.’ A tear rolls down my face. A lie dances off my tongue as if this were a race. Slowly, my hands tell me to pick up the pace. Strangle my love, as if it were a mere moment of suffering. Put it out of its misery. The girl you once knew has faded into your history. There is a monster inside me. She is as beautiful as a fantasy. But she breaks hearts as if we lived in a nightmare. Frozen over by her stare. Stop, do not breathe, for she will make you suffocate. She is the reason you defined the word hate. But she is also the one who once upon a time made you touch a love too soft to forget. She is also the reason why a dry throat made eyes dance with lust and hands feel wet. She is the one who rips hearts apart, as if she had none of her own. Like an ice queen, she once again wears her crown. Looking at the blood in her hands, she hopes that one day these addictive masks will fall away.

The Allure of the Addictive Mask 🧊

At 18, the world feels like a stage where you have to "pick up the pace" just to keep your emotions from catching up to you. This poem explores the duality of being the villain in someone else's story—and perhaps your own.

The imagery of the Ice Queen wearing her crown while looking at the blood on her hands is a powerful metaphor for the guilt that comes with self-preservation. It’s a "vain wish" to be free, yet we hold onto the mask because it’s addictive. It’s safer to be cold than to be broken. ⛸️💔

Join the Archive Journey 🔔

Sharing these older works is a way for me to honor the younger writer I used to be. Every week, I’ll be reaching into the vault to share more original poetry, dark metaphors, and emotional reflections.

Are you wearing a mask today? Let’s talk about it in the comments. 💬

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Written by: Shachem Lieuw ✒️