Contributing opinion writer
Kyla N. Golding
I am a Black woman who — like anyone else — has moments of strength and moments when I’ve lost my voice. Too often, though, has the world convinced me that my value is fixed in my ability to defend myself incessantly, to fight for others intensely, and to maintain the perfect pitch as my larynx swells.
When Prince Harvard bestowed upon me a fateful kiss, I’d hoped that I could slay the villains that had robbed me of the fantastical dreams of Black princessdom. But the truth is, both inside and outside of this white castle, that this little Black girl cannot want to be a princess, mostly because she knows the world would never let her be one.