The green and brown crystallized orbs
that the media praised and loved,
flooded with tears
as the voice tore through the hearing plugs
and shook her heart.

She wore a bulletproof emotional vest
believed to ward off the slashes of anger,
the sense of uselessness,
to hide away the drops of defeat
that she knows she may never get the chance
to wash away.

She bore the suit like armor
but was unaware of the damages
it had previously taken.

And as he raised his voice
she stood, frozen,
unable to utter a coherent word
to convey the urgency of her job,
remember the name of her boss,
or reply to any of his ill spat questions.
And all the while,
she was on the verge of running out of the facility
and out into the parking lot
that burned and cooked flesh.
She wouldn't have cared.

All that could be done was to hold the sobs,
threaten her eyes not to cry,
and hope that her feet wouldn't carry her
far, far, away.

But the day just seemed to get worse.

The labels on the boxes were illegible to her hazel wonders
that were blinded by a thin film of water,
the ink in her pen ran dry,
the person she was told to help her left after his lunch break,
and she was completely lost.

She needed to be grounded
but there was no one to be found,
only the watch that clasped her arm tight
and counted the minutes that were left
in her work day.