I Can Never Be Rapunzel: Being a Black Girl in America.

When I was little, probably eight, I had a beautiful black bunk bed with colorful butterfly sheets and a dazzling and glittery pink canopy that draped down around the top bunk like a waterfall. The bed made me like Rapunzel in my tall, safe, castle.   A month later, I despised that bed. It no … Continue reading I Can Never Be Rapunzel: Being a Black Girl in America.

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Heavy Metal.

My day started with a gun. I didn’t know where it came from, what it was doing on top of my backpack, or why I needed it. But, there was a message etched into its cold, black, side in peeling white-out, maybe from all the sweaty and anxious palms that have caressed it, that said … Continue reading Heavy Metal.