Tears spill out of my eyes like rain. So fresh, so easy, they fall, dotting the lap of my skirt. My eyes are so much brighter and clearer with tears. Their blue iris sparkles even in my sorrow. Every tear feels tethered to my gut. There are tears from the heart. Heart tears are sad tears. These tears or from my core, hot, molten tears. These tears are condensed bitterness and anger. Is it better to leak out contempt in uber concentrated droplets or to howl at the moon? Like carbon atoms that arrange themselves into sheets of coal, which burns dirty and sooty and coats the smokestacks and blackens lungs, my tears can poison. But if I can compress them hard and tightly enough, they will rearrange themselves into brillantly, precious diamonds.