My compassion is a steel blade,
so thin and sharp,
I could cut you
and you would not know.
You would bleed
and be unaware.

Blades are tools
as well as weapons.
They are the tool of healers,
and I operate with consent.

Fear of the unknown is not compassion,
so every slice is done with consciousness.

No matter how much
I wish to spare you pain,
it must be done with consciousness.
The title is a quote taken from a letter from a sensei of mine. He was attempting to describe my philosophy, and the poem flowed from there.
Me Díaz 12m
Between heartbeats;
In the silent void,
Where my soul resides.
In the still silence is where god is found,
Which is to say:
That's where the self is found.
Me Díaz 31m
Where the memories of you
Still bleed through.

M•(e). Díaz
And if you are to love,
Love as the moon loves.
It doesn't steal the night,
It only unveils the beauty of the dark.

And if you are to love,
Love as the rain loves.
It doesn't wet the bodies,
It only washes the sad dirt of the souls.

And it you are to love,
Love as the wind loves.
It doesn't drift away,
It only cleanse you to the core by invading through each pore.

And if you are to love,
Love as the sun loves.
It doesn't radiates heat,
It only pours its warmth on you to enlighten your way.

And if you are to love,
Love as the star loves.
It doesn't delightfully twinkles,
It only reminds you that not even death can separate two hearts.

And so forth,
if you are to love
Love as the whole universe
& not just a part of it.
  23h Me Díaz
We all once were
or will soon be
a small, weak soul
that is in desperate need
for a miraculous rescue.
Dodging the reckless existence
that is now ahead of us
taught us fear and paranoia,
but we need something,
someone that will teach us
of truth, trust and love.
We need more of this,
to surround ourselves
in a never-ending sea
of relief and bliss.
Me Díaz 23h
Other than to hide in shame;
As if there were any shame in living:
In breaking.
In failing.
In falling.
In being.
I will set myself ablaze
Shed this skin:
My outer layers.
My shame.
Wash away the stain.
For in the end:

Hate is just an echo of pain.

M•(e). Díaz
Though the pain remains,
I’m making a conscious decision
To let go of the resentment and hate that was beginning to build up inside,
In the end, there really is no reason to hate
It’s just an echo of pain.
When the bus lurches forward
finger Muscles can’t contract fast enough
Stirs too slowly,
steamed milk is curdling.

In comparison, finger rubber bangs
Snap back 1000 faster-
measured in joules, meters per second.

Warming up first, increases “crunchiness”
What I refer to as breaking any leftover bonds.
Moreover, muscle memory works more effectively,
And tricks on the bus are more pleasurable.
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