A Black American Princess in Her Digital Castle

The world has always felt like a complicated, fire-breathing dragon that must be slayed day after day. My armor has never fit quite right, and I was never the chosen princess at the ball. Friends never came easy, and in every grand hall I entered, I felt like an imposter slipping in through the servant’s door. No one ever rolled out a welcome carpet for me — not in family, not in school, not in life.

Instead, I was locked away in towers of silence, misunderstood by those who were supposed to protect me. Family ties felt more like chains than ribbons, and I learned quickly that love in my kingdom came with conditions. Gaslighting became the lullaby, enabling the bedtime story. “Speak your truth,” they said — but only if it never spoke against them. I learned that my very first betrayal didn’t come from strangers or enemies, but from the castle I was born into.

So I built a world in my head. A place where I could rule my own imagination, where my crown wasn’t crooked by other people’s opinions. Yet working from home, trapped within the same four walls, has turned that world into both a palace and a prison. My days are quiet — too quiet. The only voice that interrupts the stillness belongs to debt collectors, their summonses echoing like unwanted court messengers.

“The light in her eyes was stolen by the sadness in her heart .” - d.s.

And still, I fight. I duel with depression, I spar with anxiety, I wrestle with shadows that try to overthrow my reign. Some days, I am the knight with a blade raised high. Other days, I am the damsel collapsed on the dungeon floor, praying for rescue. Again and again, I’m knocked on my back — yet somehow I rise, bruised but unbowed.

I crave connection. I long for a royal court of my own — a circle of kindred souls, a community where my voice doesn’t echo back empty. I mourn the family I lost and the kingdom I never truly had. That grief doesn’t leave; it lingers like ashes after the fire, reminding me of all the stories that were written without me in mind.

But if I am to be the princess of my own story, then I will rewrite the ending. I no longer wait for fairy godmothers or princes on white horses. I no longer chase waterfalls or illusions of rescue. Instead, I chase joy — the kind that cannot be revoked by anyone’s decree. I will crown myself. I will build a throne out of everything I’ve survived.

Yes, the dragons are real. Yes, the towers are high. But I am not powerless. I am the ruler of my own kingdom, and I will pursue every path, every passion, every dream that makes me happy. And when the bards tell my story one day, they won’t say I was the girl who mourned her family forever. They’ll say I was the Black American Princess who slayed her monsters and built her own castle on the ruins.