It was a hot summer day and alcohol was the only thing that could take the heat stroke away.

And there was only one place in town that made ice cream with alcohol in it.

There we sat, a group of underage teens, tipsy on a hundred dollars of ice cream.

My friend tilted his head back in laughter and asked me, "What kind of ice cream are you?"

I looked down at the floor to see my rainbow colored sandals stare back at me and I giggled.

"I am superman ice cream with a hint of rum within," I said.

"Yeah I see that, you're really colorful,"

"Yeah, colorful, of course," I responded.

I didn't know how else to react, much less, how to explain my response.

How do I explain that my colors and my taste are the tip of the iceberg?

I am taste bud fulfilling, exquisite and unique.

I leave stains, whether it be on your favorite summer dress or the tip of your tongue.

After a while, you try to venture different cities seeking distinct flavors, wanting the same taste.

You got sugar rushes on Vanilla in New York City and brain freezes on the rocky roads in Texas.

Even knockoffs couldn't ignite a spark within your soul to make you move to Motown music.

They never left a stain, you don't even remember their names, much less their taste.

You remember my name, even when you try to forget, oddly enough, with a hint of rum.

Oh, don't you see? You will always come back to me, you are in awe of my rarity.

My vibrant colors will always melt your heart and send chills through your veins.

I am not superman ice cream simply because I am colorful.

I am superman ice cream because I am powerful.