Chipped Coffee Mugs

Her body is entirely new and unexplored
with bones painfully sharp, and tiny
almost slender hands.
She has asthma but smokes anyways
no matter how many times I plead to her
after a dreadful coughing fit, and despite
her appearance, she is anything but fragile
and knows it.

After three years of being her best friend
and six months of being her fuck-buddy
I had never seen her cry until I stopped by
her apartment, littered with chipped coffee mugs
and destroyed canvases, and found her
curled up like she wished to fold into
herself; into nothing
while she cried the most horrifying sobs.

I asked her what was wrong and carded fingers
through her hair until she looked up
with blood shot eyes and said
“I saw a girl with scars along her arms
just like mine, but she wore them like a warrior
and i realized maybe I am weak
after all.”