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if I cry
The tears will
cleanse my eyes
wash my face  
Glide along my neck.

My hair will be blessed
with the water of You.
Flowing down my sacred *******,
That nourished.

Waterfall of the Angels,
Down my back.
My body
feeling the coolness.

the sadness of it all.
I am Drenched
in all my thoughts and love
indued with you.

The tears will pool at my feet
forming the trickle,
That will meet the rain drops.
Find the flow-away..
will bring the parts of
you and me together...
down to the river.

through that river
we will join.
Enter the ocean.
My tears will spread
far and wide... 

A perfect moment,
they will rise up
One with the clouds that have formed
the rain and the mist

And if I cry these
will be my tears
Once again
My daughter Mariah Belle Flaherty passed at age 24 on September 23, 2020
R.I.P my youngest Love
Christi Michaels MoonFlower May 2018

There are no
Monsters here...

this, the
soft, fertile soil,
that was
to feed the
Family Gardens.

No evil creatures, lurking behind
these timid
hurting hearts.

a painful place...
this invasive, pervasive,
of Us .

Here lay
The raw,
The ragged
mashed up
An onslaught
of hurts,
that float and fester
in our cauldron
of tears.

'Canvas of Colors'
tells Our story...
Melding together
The frozen and
unthawed moments of
all the

There are no Monsters here

We are the tender
beings that continue
to breathe ragged
after the forest fire,
tripping  through
Crumbling Ashes
turned wet black.
Dank and slippery.

Yearning to find
strong footing
amongst these
ruins of our
own doing

No evil creatures, lurking behind
these timid
hurting hearts

There are no Monsters here
Addiction uprootes and infects
The most loving of familiesamily#addiction #familyunits #hurtandpain
These wounds are mine
I claim them.
I am the one that allowed
them to happen.
Opened myself up.
Engaged in the rage
and Drama.

50 years of my 60,
have only thought
how I could do no harm to others.
I was my children’s protector,
The worlds advocate.
Yet, I have allowed so much
harm to come to me.

These wounds are mine.
I push them back into
The darkness through
which they came.
That is how I smile and love
through each moment.

These wounds are my own
They are mine
They belong to me
Pieces of
our past.
Wondering how we will
them back
in the days
of the weeks,
the months
of the years ahead...

as you disguise
on benches,
in corners, alleys.
Hidden in woods,
of freeways.
Tents, cars
of strangers.
Filthy trap houses.
You disappear,
to find
comfort in
the only place
left to heal.

The Deep Depths of Sleep.

Oh how I
worry about
you my love.
You suffer so
for this journey  
you have embarked on...

Oh, how I
hurt for you,
yearn for you,
love for you
and cry for you.

Your pain
so deep
keeps you away,
to dwell in the
terrifying place that
the need to
Self implode..
Obliterate all ability to feel.

Even the
true sense of Belonging
Of being
Missing my precious daughter so...
She say's

Write a Poem...
"One, where the Heavens
Are clear,
New Beginnings.

"a different
Path opening ahead of me, Filled
with a Strength
I can hold onto."
"A strength with the
conviction of not
letting me go"

I need this story.
A Poem Story,
That sees My future of hope and love,
so precious.
To be held dearly.
On this
conscious walk,
Filled with Grace
The Divine."

"Holding me tight
and steady
Never wavering,
To help me through."

"Reminding me of
all that
I truly am and...
Not of
what has become."

"To cast a light
upon the
opportunities of
that lay
before me.
My bright heart
That has always been
with me"

"Mamma, I need a Poem,
That remembers...
Reminds me
As I truly am.
'Filled with Grace.'

"A precious gift,
Eyes all abright
Heart open to love.
Without fear of
Being hurt
She does not lose well...

She will not forget.
It will haunt her,
the favorite pencil..
tip softened perfectly,
A paw, pushed it
somewhere to a secret spot.
Out of her vision...her reach.  

A peice of paper elusive, yet there...
lodged deep amidst
A stack
of most important things.

She does not lose well...

Not in terms of Games or Competition..
but the things in
her life
that Envelop
her world.

Tough, Scrappy,
and Oh-So Tender.
Holding all
things dear and
close to her heart

Loss is a place of  
deepest contemplation
for her.
The memories she has stored
through her life
stay alive,
stay vibrant,
stay with her

The immense
joy shared.
Her deepests sadness;
A cachet of stories
reverberate within her heart,
expanding outward
like ripples in a pond.

She does not lose well.

The Creatures
and People
that live within the wholeness of her being...

Even One pulled
out leaves,
like a building block,
a gap, a tear,
a hole in her life.

She does not forget,
Or minimize the Pertinance of Love,
A moment that has touched her heart.

Forever an imprint upon her consciousness.
She is permeated with knowledge... the essence of all things.

When it is time for The Loss,
The breakng of her heart can be felt through all time
and space

Being filled with divine wisdom and insight, She is able
to see all aspects
at once.

The Purpose.
The moment becomes filled with rainbows of light.
She will bathe in that guide Them Home
She knows how.

Knows intuitively what course will
be taken.
She trusts in the Divine. Her piece of solice, amidst the flutterings of her most  tender,
broken heart.

The history, the moments.  Living memories, are paramount  in the connection she has with All.

She does not lose well.

Her grief shrouds her, a mystical shawl.
A veil that will hold her dearly
till the pain is at least bearable..

Then she will
To tell her stories
once again.
A friend Losing her Mother to Alzheimer's
Christi Michaels MoonFlower
Jul 2016/ repost


I came upon
a parade of
Zinnias today...
lined along the
wild and wily.
An infinite variety
of colorful heads
popping up and out,
like eyes of
wary prairie dogs,
on the lookout
for action.

Thought of you...
the flower pods
you gave me,
filled with
seeds aplenty
to plant in the spring.
Knew just where
they would go.
Imagined my
hands in the
welcoming earth,
sowing them at
just the right depth.

They would grow,
reaching with their
long thin frames.
Vigorously tall
and full of
Summers' brightness.
Symmetrical flowers
filled with attitude
towards the sun.

Flourishing in cracks along  
and driveways.
Finding comfort, feeling free
in the most limited
of spaces.

Yet...I did not
plant them.
Aware that I am
not able, just now,
to make such a commitment.
To water and ****.
Ensuring that they
would reach their full potential.
A simple promise of one season.
To nourish a delicate,
perfect Zinnia.
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