“To the mother who is tired and who’s sitting on the kitchen floor,
Who’s crying like she’s never, ever cried before,
Who’s heart is filled with anxiety and hurt,
And who’s not had time to change her soiled shirt.
The same one she’s worn for days,
Because her mind has become a bit of a haze.
A haze of things she’s wanted to do,
But can’t seem to find the strength to get through.
She’s pushing as hard as she knows best,
Putting the food on the table, and the kids to rest.
But there are days she can’t do much more,
So she finds herself crouched on her kitchen floor.
She’s tasked with things that have become too much,
She struggles now even to make lunch.
She’s missed meals and sleep to get things done,
And is sad to see what she’s become.
She wishes she could leave just for a bit,
To feel again, to breathe, and just to sit.
But she’s alone and feels too numb,
Even to move to pick up the crumbs,
That lay next to her on the kitchen floor,
Where she wonders who she was once before.
She’ll get up in a little bit,
But for now, she knows this is the only time she’ll get to sit.
She knows the dishes wait for her,
So do the million other things that have become a blur.
There’s a mother today who wants to be more,
Much more than a mother who sits on the kitchen floor.
Be kind to her and do not judge,
She’s tried to move, she’s tried to budge.
She’s told herself she should do more,
But she’s stuck sitting on her kitchen floor.
Come see her and bring her a tea,
Remind her of what she cannot see.
Sit beside her and be a friend.
Tell her that this is not the end.
Let her know
That she will once again grow,
Up from the floor,
Where she sits and wants to cry no more.”
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