They call me the Ice Queen.
My heart embedded in a sheet of arctic glass.
Impenetrable and safe in the confines of it’s frosted walls.

Snowflakes hit my cheeks as if laughing about my frozen state,
“you’re smart never to fall in love” they whisper as they flutter.

The words sting as fresh as frostbite on my toes.

Not being able to love is no summer paradise.
It’s a curse as raw as winter,
As unwanted as an avalanche,
A severe storm.

A fear ruling my body.
Robbing me of all warmth,
As I sit freezing,
Icicles where tears would normally form.

Constantly traveling on snow capped mountains,
I ask myself,
Whether love is the fool or I for not loving?

Once again the wind picks up,
As the childhood memories hail down as reasons
Why I stay in this state of white wasteland fill my mind...

Frigid reminders of a mother who kept re-marrying,
and a father who could never fully commit to a woman despite the chilling loneliness.

No sculpted example of Love carved into my frosty mind.

Remaining as uncertain of what Love even means,
As if my mind were slipping on black ice,
I plunge back into the safety of snowfalls,
Scared of what it means to be anything but numb.

But hope is an odd thing.

Hope to one day feel the glacier surrounding my caged heart to melt.
Hope for the goosebumps to stop tickling my arms.
Hope for the ice to one day thaw as I make my escape from

My never-ending Ice Age.