My mother is my world

My love, affection and respect for my mother is endless as she is my best friend, my guidepost for everything and my biggest inspiration.

She was a forest. My austere eyes glinted with admiration at this silhouette, this ephemeral tree and her stretch marks. My gaze went to her vigorous unfolded arms, a mighty tree trunk moonlit with the twinkling curves of her body. She let everyone build a treehouse around her spine even if she felt suffocated to ensure my happiness. I carved drawings into the treehouse as she lulled her agonies to an eternal subdue. Her old trees towered upon me like skyscrapers, sunlight filtering through her branches as her comforting embrace tethers my worries away. As the cold breeze blows through her emerald leaves sodden with the dew of her sorrows, my innocent eyes ponder how the years have crafted her so resilient, breathtaking, and wise.

She was the ocean. The tide rises and falls inundating upon its murmuring shore, furious waves fighting for its life against obstacles splattered across her child’s life, her waves plummeting only when the flicker of glee dances upon her child’s complexion once again. When my heavy heart weighs down into the deep waters, I unload my pain in the ocean’s vast depths and my mother’s warm embrace anchors me in place. She holds me as her waves wash away the cascade of salty tears pattered on my face, letting me breathe. After every storm, the ocean perches calmly, reflecting the sky’s splendor like a mirror showing me resilience.

She was the sun. She tiredly entwined her rays of sunlight into a rippling gown for me, hands worn with ache. Her presence trailed blooming tulips in its wake and tackled every unfortunate circumstance for me until darkness turned blindingly aglow by the flickering flame of her hope. She’d paint my sky striking colors of crimson and pinks every single day holding a heavy heart with no one to praise her for the all the monsters she protected me against, for all the weighty sacrifices that strangled her with choked sobs and all the strength in the wings she gave me to conquer. She thought the world took her for granted, her everlasting rays raining down upon us regardless of her circumstance, but I thank the light, as I cease to imagine a world without a sun. She held up in the sky with outstretched arms and I drowned in her words when she said, “You can be anything you dream of.” I knew even a bit of her presence could sprout ample growth in my feeble seed of existence.

She was a rainstorm. In the dead of night where sleep abandoned me, my mother’s voice shot through the dark and sang a mellifluous tune with her raindrops to lull me to sleep. Her leading aim was to clean the dirt from everyone’s hearts, but when she opened her clouds to precipitate rain, everyone ran to take shelter. So, to show everyone, she gave them what they wanted by silencing her bolts of thunder, a life with an eternal sun whilst biting down her rainy tongue. She peered through a crisp frame of watery lashes as she observed the world fall more into a pit of destruction wishing they listened to her before. My mother is the unafraid, bold, and fearless hero of my life. The one who always told me knowledge is power, who told me to aim for the sky and touch the clouds, the one who told me not to care what the world thought, the one who told me she’ll believe no matter what happens, and the only person who will be by my side my whole life and will never leave. So, to the woman who let her years of happiness and freedom shatter into thousand indecipherable remnants just to give me a better one and thinks the world does not appreciate her, nothing beautiful will ever grow, if we did not have rain.