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It Takes All Types
Tears of acid.
Burning upon their swift exit.
Leaving a stinging reminder of memories not yet faded.
Tears of blood.
Raining like crimson drops of regret.
And coating her book in puddles of warm words that could have been sweeter.
Tears of joy.
Bursting forth like a geyser of unknown proportions.
Hot and light, making messes of clothing as she flings her arms around him again.
Tears of anger.
Spewing, like broken angels' wings, from her tired eyes.
Reminding all that she will never break.
Tears of pity.
Shed at the sight of the grubby girl on the side of the road.
Without warning, or want, small cold drops appear, to be whisked away hurriedly.
Tears that defy categorization.
They slip out late at night, in the dark, when her thoughts turn towards nothing.
Tears without reason, drops without rhythm, rain without clouds.
It takes all types,
to make a walking contradiction,
that doesn't have a thought but for nonsense,
that cannot speak words,
for she has no tongue.
That is devoid of reason or logic,
but embraces the quiet defiance that comes
with being absorbed in her cerebrum.
It takes all forms of rain to make
the thunderstorms that nestle in her heart,
threatening the life they reside in,
and tearing her away from every person who said it will be okay.
It takes all types to make this interesting person;
interesting being another way to say incomprehensible even to herself.
This person also known as me.