My Mother, My Champion

In the early hours of a new day, my champion prepares for battle once again. I watch in secret as she dawns her battle armor with practiced precision. The soft glow of the vanity mirror highlights her tired eyes, but her movements never cease. I watch, as the beautiful and gentle image of a woman whose essence is to love and be kind is transformed into a battle ready masterpiece.

Eyes of emerald green are protected by the warm colors of the world she owns, and thick, black lashes are ready to sweep away the pests naive enough to stand in her way. Clear, bright, and beautiful skin is her pride and declaration of vitality and vigor. Lips are painted pink like the precious petals of an enchanting flower, but whether this flower shall bring sweet healing or drip poison depends on her opponent. Let no one assume her weak or tired, for she is ageless and without fault.

Dainty curls that are reminiscent of her innocent childhood are ordered into calculated coils. Her blonde hair shines like golden silk and speaks to the wealth her mere presence grants to those around her. She brings herself to new heights as she gracefully slips her stocking clad feet into her three inch, dagger-like heels--the sound of those heels clicking across marble floors will instill fear and rival the oppressive sound of the cavalry's hooves heading for war in times of old. Let no one look down upon her, for she will rise above all and walk into battle with confidence.

Her soft and delicate frame is draped in the latest fashion, her armor without wrinkle or stain as if the world knew better than to leave its mark upon her. Glittering jewels rest upon her delicate neck and wrists, instilling a false sense of fragility in those foolish enough to oppose her. Let no one know the weight of the world she carries on her shoulders, for she will bare it alone.

In the short span of an hour, the woman before me constructed her battle armor from scratch with the natural ease of a superior craftsman--her visage the work of a true artisan. Victory rested between her brows while decorum concealed her inclination for domination in the sweet curve of her lips. Perfect makeup, perfect outfit, and a perfect smile, a true career woman's arsenal for success.

Today was just another day to her, but to me it was a moment among countless to come where I was blessed with an unforgettable image of feminine strength and independence. It was a lesson unspoken that I forever ingrained in my mind. A woman will never be powerless, for being a woman in of itself is to be a weapon. It is simply up to us how we wish to wield the power within us. For me, I aspire to wield my femininity with the grace and authority of my mother, my champion.