Some mothers give their daughters:
Rose petal hands
And bouquets for smiles;
Laughter like Aphrodite
And the lips of a pianist;
A mind like sunshine;
The poise and elegance of a princess,
And the graceful gaze of a queen,

And surely,
These are valuable, lovely things.

But my mother gave me
Only that which she had
Fought and earned for herself:

Swords for fingers;
Guns for lips,
and arrows for eyes;
Armor for skin
And a mind sharp as knives;
How to create
A bouquet out of flames;
How to invite my demons
For afternoon tea;
And in the darkness,
She taught me how to sing.

And surely,
These are also valuable, lovely things.