secret woman by andressa F

There is a secret
A secret in the way
that exist in me
they call honey.

I live in half
and I am in half.
I exist behind the smile
that anticipates
the taste of the tear.

What they think is not
what I see in the mirror.
Intimate with myself
the anguish is squeeze.
Swallowing food
I push the sorrow
and the bitter molecule.
And no one sees.
Nobody knows the wet slip,
the tight eye,
the painful hiccups,
my immoral minute,
before sleep.

There is a deep cut
that does not bleed
that does not close.
So I sleep.
And I wake up.
And I sleep and wake up.
And I live like this: in half.