What’s special about me?
What’s special about me is my hair. My hair holds stories and secrets. It tells the tale of how I was once insecure about the curls that flowed from my head. It tells the tale of how I began to embrace what was given, what I was born with. It holds the secrets of my wash days and how to be patient with myself because my curls are a blessing, not a curse. Every curl on my head represents me, the old and the new. It represents my growth.
What’s special about me?
What’s special about me is my mind. The potential it has, the memories it holds. Not only is my mind a powerful tool for learning, but it is also a tool for remembering. Remembering where I came from, remembering who I came from. I come from a single-mother household. I remember my mother doing everything she could to provide for me by herself. I remember her telling me about the struggles I would face as a young Black woman. I remember her telling me that as a young Black woman, I have the strength to overcome these struggles.
What’s special about me?
What’s special about me are my eyes. My dark brown eyes can see good in the world. My eyes have seen plenty: seen the dehumanization of minorities in America, witnessed the inequality of women, and noticed my rights slowlybeing stripped away. My eyes have also seen the strength of my generation, the power of myself. When I look at myself in the mirror, I see ambitiousness. I see a girl who never gives up on her dreams. Who is determined to make a change in the world, no matter how big or small.
What’s special about me?
What’s special about me is my mouth. The way it assists me in finding the courage to voice my opinion, even when my mind is whispering no. My lips put on the brightest smile, even on my darkest days, because I know the sun will rise again. My mouth helps others through tough times, and my advice hopefully becomes someone’s solitude. My mouth naturally tells people, “I love you,” because it fears the day I will potentially have to say “goodbye.”
What’s special about me?
What’s special about me are my hands and legs. The hands that keep up with the pace of my mind to write my emotions on paper. My hands offer a hand to hold on to during tough times. Some days were more challenging than others, and my legs picked me up out of bed to get me to the next day. The legs that did toe touches for cheer and jumps for ballet. The legs that pace back and forth as I paint on my canvas.
What’s special about me?
What’s special about me is my heart. A heart that holds no hate even though it has been broken. A heart that remains pure in such a dirty world. A heart that chooses to kill with kindness instead of seeking revenge. A heart that is healing and growing. Yes, in medical terms, my heart is simply a muscle. In Kayla’s terms, my heart is my motivation. My motivation is to stay kind and pure. My reminder that just because something is broken does not mean it cannot be fixed. I follow my heart.
What’s special about me?
What’s special about me is my skin. I am Black, a Black female. My melanin holds stories of thousands of years. It tells the story of bravery and strength; it tells the story of pain and sorrow. Simply put, it tells the story of history. Although I am one of millions, this Black girl is making history. I am making history because I am going to college. Shocking to say because it wasn’t until 1837 that African Americans could attend universities.
What’s special about me?
What’s special about me is that I am a storybook. I am a storybook filled with different genres, tones, and themes. My story is a continuation. My story is history. I hold the tales of my ancestors, I hold the tales of my mother, I hold the tales of my grandmother, I hold the tales of African Americans, and I hold the tales of myself. I will write my own story but never forget the sequels before me.
I am Kayla Sheriffe, a Black female prepared to write and tell her story to the rest of the world.
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