Whenever she enters a classroom, I notice how she glances around quietly, swiftly analyzing students' wrists and eyes for allies in this war against themselves. Finding none, she sits miserably at her desk and opens her composition book full of drawings of grafitti. Her head down, she nervously starts fidgeting with her multiply pierced ears, her side braid, her outfit.

She comes to school everyday, a bright smile on her face, and a happy spring in her step. Yet, when she comes around me, I can see past all that. I notice her scars covering her arms and thighs, the bags under her eyes due to never sleeping because of nightmares, her many horrible hangovers during class, and the constant looks of worry she has whenever someone compliments her.

And its sad. Because I understand exactly what she's going through...I've been through the same... from rapes to fucked up mind games and rejection from parents. Even after all these years of going through the things she's going through now, I still have its effects. And yet, I make sure she doesn't see how broken I am inside, because she looks up to me. The last thing I want is for her to worry. So I cover everything up with a hug, along with a few smiles and a cheerful attitude. She's my best friend, my metaphorical sister. She calls me mama because of how I treat her. I look out for her like a mom.

Because honestly, teenage girls are like glass. Once we break, you may put us back together, but you can still feel every crack and breakage.