YouTube Tuesday: “Work on It,” They Said

It’s Tuesday again – so here’s another poem from my YouTube channel. I’ve always loved this one, so I hope you enjoy hearing it out loud!

“Work on It,” They Said

A pit of lust and sleaze:
Our love is a disease;
A burning, itchy feeling
In every fibre of my being

It began when we declared
That our future would be shared
In solitude and health;
My sickness and your wealth

It grew into something bleaker
As my life signs became weaker
Now what sparks the tender flame
Is nothing more than shame

When we got deeper into life
Our marriage bonds untied:
The sound of your very name
Only increases my pain

Both of us have suffered
(And found pleasure in another);
This illness has consumed me:
Without love, we’d both be free

I’ve started to get quite a collection of poetry on my YouTube channel now. It’s still a work in progress, but please feel free to check out some of the other videos and let me know what you think:


I pray for a miracle today

Give me strength, give me power

Though still I feel I will betray

The one who makes me cry and cower

The morning is like any other

Wake up, get up, and the work begins

But when he comes to me, I discover

His anger beneath his wily grin

The first punch leaves me on the floor

I pray again, screams in my mind

But find I still cannot ignore

The guilt of leaving him behind

I pray for a miracle each morning

Before the bruises start to form

And every time, he gives me warning:

For me, this life should be the norm

The sneers, the shouting, bitter words

That hurt far greater than his fists

No change, this is all I deserve

Until my heart can be dismissed

One of Them

The faces drifted in and out of focus, twirling and spinning until they became a blur of colours with a lack of any distinguishing features.

In the end, they were all the same. Hair colour, skin colour, eye colour, lipstick, eyeliner, moustaches, beards … whatever. They were all the same.

Laying in the mud, I dared to raise my head enough to see their distorted faces. I did not need to be able to recognise any of them. It was what they said that defined them, but they never said anything I had not heard before.



Waste of space.

I did not need them to say it to me. I had learnt these things long ago. I if I wasn’t pathetic, wasn’t a loser, wasn’t a waste of space, then this wouldn’t keep happening to me. Everywhere I went, every school I attended, it was always the same. They were always there, with their unrecognisable faces and their sharp words.

It was nothing to do with them. It was me, I was the one who was wrong. As their faces twirled and span, they became part of a collective, the same group of people. I, meanwhile, was alone, recognisable and vulnerable, easy to spot in a crowd.

To change, I had to become a blur. I had to become one of them.

The mud smeared on my face hid me a little, and that was where my disguise – my process of blending in, of joining them – would begin.

Spider-Lover and Fly-Boy

Always weaving
Day in, day out,
Trying to catch the juiciest flies,
It hangs there
In the corner
Of my room.
Thrown out once
It just came back;
Weaving, weaving,
Strands of web reaching across
From one wall to the next
And difficult to remove.
It just sits there waiting
Patient, weaving,
Impossible to remove.
Leave me alone
I no longer
Want to be tangled
In your nasty webs,
Trying me
In tricky knots.
And Fly-Boy;
She sits there weaving
Day in, day out.

The Ravenous One

He gnaws through my flesh down to the bone.
His teeth are sharp enough to rip my body into pieces,
His lips covered in the dark red liquid love
That returns me to him even as it drips down –

Splat, splat

– Steadily onto the carpet, where on the first night
We made love, too excited to make it to the bed.
That’s so long ago as he digs his fingers into the wound,
Prises my flesh open further, and through the searing pain –

Splat, splat

– His drool dripping down onto the carpet.
This hunger to tear me apart, until I am no longer a person
But a mess of flesh and blood and bone,
I know one day he will kill me. And so –

Splat, splat

– My tears mingle with the blood and drool.
As I remember that my heart beats only for him,
I feel his anger searing its way through him into me, like
Teeth gnawing their way through flesh to bone.

Short Story: Nice Guy

This is a great story, really enjoyable.

Joe Hinojosa

Lance sat alone, stirring his Jack and Coke with his finger, gazing morosely at the clock above the bar. He would have preferred to have stayed home, not wanting to meet the woman whom had already kept him waiting almost half an hour, but she had begged and pleaded until at last, in exasperation, he gave in. He regretted his weakness.

After waiting another five minutes, Vanessa finally showed up, looking slightly harried, but otherwise unapologetic for being more than thirty minutes late. She walked to the table and waited for him to acknowledge him, but he continued to play with his drink. Finally she cleared her throat. “Lance?” she said inquiringly.

“Vanessa,” he retorted flatly, keeping his eye resolutely on his drink. “Have a seat, I guess.”

She waited for him to stand, thinking he would at least do that one gentlemanly duty that common courtesy demanded, but seeing…

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This is really touching and powerful in that it allows the reader to infer their own meaning behind the words – who exactly is he, and what has he done? Well written.

SylviaChika's Word-Pile


I need to go

Please don’t say no

I’ll be back

But not right now

I’ll be away

But not for too long

Let me sing you one last song

A song that will make you smile

I really want to be with you

But I can’t take you with me

The storm would hit me so hard if I do

Please don’t cry!

I know…I know I should try

But not right now

He’ll pursue me

He’ll run after me

He might hurt me

I don’t want him to hurt you too

It will make me cry

So, please stay

You can’t go with me

I’ll come back for you…

…But not now

One thing is certain

I’ll come back for you

And then

We’ll be together again

By Sylvia Chika

Instagram: @sylviachikawrites

BBM Channel: C002F2845


© 2016 Sylvia Chika

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Windswept on the porch with eyes as cold as steel
Jacket torn to shreds by the bitterness of night
I have returned to you again
As apparently
I cannot escape from the sphere of your influence

A face somewhere there, settled between the bruises
Shoes soaked in the blood that fell from my wrists
I am incomplete without this
So it seems
Because I come crawling back every time

Cheeks dripping from the torrent of tears
As the self-hatred washes over me yet again
I am the recluse who sinks
Back slowly into
The dark corners of my mind

You, who has controlled me
You, this other me
My soul of misery