I don't say anything and I feel awful. I tell somebody and I feel worse. I'm having trouble finding a middle ground.

We have to acknowledge that adolescence is that time of transition where we begin to introduce to children that life isn't pretty, that there are difficult things, there are hard situations, it's not fair. Bad things happen to good people.

Some adults would rather pretend that bad things dont exist than to talk about them.

I smile and play pretend through the Morning Show in the kitchen.

I breathe in slowly. Food is life. I exhale, take another breath. Food is life.

We tilt our heads back and open wide. The snow drifts into our zombie mouths crawling with grease and curses and tobacco flakes and cavities and boyfriend/girlfriend juice, the stain of lies. For one moment we are not failed tests and broken condoms and cheating on essays; we are crayons and lunch boxes and swinging so high our sneakers punch holes in the clouds. For one breath everything feels better. Then it melts. The bus drivers rev their engines and the ice cloud shatters. Everyone shuffles forward. They don't know what just happened. They can't remember.

A scar is a sign of strength. . .the sign of a survivor.