Ice Cream
The ice cream they say,
Is fascinating and sweet, like me.
Hold it from the cone, lick it this way.
“Truly majestic”.
I am confused.
Asking, as I try to comprehend
What if I don’t hold it from the cone?
But from the other end?
Instantly, adoring faces turn to fire.
They are furious.
Arms outstretched, I try to inquire
They slap my hands away
“Disgusting”.
Gingerly, I tip-toe to my room
As they spout words of fire
I wear a secret smile
And grab the “ice cream” from its head.
As it drips down my fingers,
I sigh in relief.
For the unaccepting society does not know,
That the cold soothes my scarred hands,
That I do not enjoy sweet things,
Preferring to eat the cone.