Who Taught You?

Who first taught you
that you weren’t enough?
That your power wasn’t vast
like the oceans?
that your beauty wasn’t radiant
like burnt-orange suns?

Who first taught you that you weren’t enough?

that your words
had to be pint up
and suppressed
like hot combs to kinks?
that your tears weren’t
God’s symbols of strength?
that your emotions weren’t beautiful
like seasons?
that self-expression couldn’t be
as simple as the breath of life?

Who first taught you that you weren’t enough?

that your skin wasn’t melted honey?
that your smile didn’t save lives?
that your curves weren’t sacred hills?
that your eyes weren’t speckles of gold,
carved to perfection?

Who first taught you that you weren’t
the creator of life?

who dethroned you?

who taught out to believe
everything
but the
truth?