Kiara S. Randolph about 518 words
12197 Raccoon Rd
Manning, SC 29102
678-314-2717
simeonrandolph@gmail.com don’t tell me i’m not
By
Kiara S. Randolph

Seems like all I’ve ever heard is what I couldn’t and wouldn’t be...

Just because I’m 5’5 and would rather stay in and read; then play outside don’t tell me I would never make the team.

Just because I’m slow to speak and in crowds I tend to blend; rather than be the life of the party don’t tell me that I don’t deserve to be heard.

My mother a janitor and my father a mechanic; hardworking but doesn’t come from money don’t tell me I can’t be a doctor.

The youngest of three; my sister a model, my brother a star of tomorrow don’t tell me my future is anything less.

I struggle with my weight; my mom trades my burgers for grapes. I walk down the hall, they point fingers, laugh at my temporary state, just because I’m 15 and overweight don’t tell me I could never be Miss USA.

When I speak I stutter, one word becomes an echo of many. People poke fun call me retarded, but feelings I’ve got plenty. Just because I have a tough time being heard don’t tell me I can’t be a public speaker.

The alarm rings, my face hits the floor before my feet. Soccer? More like the ball kicks me. Make the table for dinner? Forget it! Goofy names I answer to, but makes me feel less than, just because I lose everything I seem to grab don’t tell me that I’ll never have.

Michael Jordan, Usain Bolt, Jackie Robinson; is that all you see my future to be? Yes I might be tall in length, dunk, sprint and hit home runs but don’t tell me an athlete is all I ever be.

You make fun of me, talk about me as if I don’t exist. Just because doctors say I’m autistic doesn’t mean I’m not human. I dream big, I laugh, cry, and hurt just the same as you. Yea I might learn at a different pace; what I go through you may not understand, or relate but don’t tell me I don’t belong.

I grew up in Turkey, you from the states. You say go back to where you come from. Label me a terrorist, call me everything except my name! My father a brick layer, manual work for me wasn’t in the plans. So away he sent my sister and me over to what he called the “promise land”. My accent may be thick and a lot of things I don’t get but don’t tell me I’m just a foreigner.

See we do before we think, anything different from what we were used to simply can’t be. The only difference we have is that you’re you and I’m me. Practice makes perfect and no rainbow comes without rain. The very things that people laugh at are the same things that make one great. In a world of crazy just don’t tell I can’t be great.