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.