Youri Joseph
Bio
just a kid who thinks in ink and speaks in rhyme
Stories (11/0)
As Result of Tainted Memories
If the only memories you have of me are negative and marred. If scars now have sealed up the sections of your heart that you opened up to me. If forgotten are the evenings we dressed to the nines, shared our talents and time, affirmed and refined our friendship, all while we dined sumptuously. And instead the image of my face leaves but a bitter taste on your tongue, and the fat lady’s sung on our once solid relationship and we cannot have so much as an awkward acquaintanceship. Then truly I must accept that life is a cruel master. And the forecaster of turbulent journeys must not be too fond of me. For I have weathered many storms but it’s only now dawned on me that there is a limit to how much I can withstand without buckling. I cannot carry on endlessly extending my heart to those who claim they’ll protect it. Until the weight of the love I can offer, that has hitherto been neglected, has crushed me internally and my heart ceases to beat. So when I finally deplete myself of emotion, I will fully forsake the preposterous notion that I could ever be granted a love that is whole and complete. No longer will I sweep up the broken pieces of a heart that has been shattered. I will never again tape up the fragments that are torn up and tattered or search for my scattered slivers of soul. I have steeled up my heart to prevent further breaking, locked it away to avoid further aching, all in attempt to at last begin damage control. But to those I have loved in any capacity, whether it was fleeting feelings or love with tremendous tenacity, understand that I cannot retract the parts of me that I’ve already given. This love line once casted refuses to sever, until my days meet their end. However, due to the pain and as result of tainted memories that I cannot mend. Henceforth and forever, I will not love again.
By Youri Joseph4 years ago in Poets
I Am Not A Writer
I am not a writer. And yes, this begs the question: Why do I write? I don’t really know. I’ve tried to find the answer to this question for years. My family and peers who know that I love to jot thoughts on my frustrations and fears have inquired before. Maybe it’s because when I speak I tend to play verbal hopscotch and my pronunciation is poor. Or maybe it stems from a childhood where I was expected to be seen and not heard so the words that my voice knew how to express were the ones I got off my chest and onto the page. Maybe I write to let go of the rage I’ve kept bottled inside for so long. While other children were getting coddled and recognized as the pride of their parents, my own made it painfully apparent that I could do nothing but wrong. No matter how hard I tried, in their eyes I was and I would always remain unimportant. So maybe I write because this awakened a dormant desire to be able to speak my truth. Maybe I write to inspire the youth to be proud of their voice and encourage them to make the choice to use it boldly. Maybe I write because of the people that told me I couldn’t make anything of a paper and pen. Maybe I write to contend with my demons. There are probably hundreds of reasons I’ve chosen to transfer my reflections into poems and prose. But I suppose that maybe I write in hopes that my words will reach the heart of someone that needs them. And even if that number is only one, I will write. If my words can resonate with even one soul then my own will find peace. Maybe I write because I believe in the power of open expression. I write my impressions and thoughts and honest confession; I don’t care whether you like them or not. Maybe I write because I feel free and alive when I read through my rhymes and each line reminds me of the good and bad times that have made up my journey of life. Maybe I write for my own peace of mind. But I also write for you. I write to help you understand the things I’ve been through to become who I am, help you peer into my heart and mine pumps ink. Maybe I write because when I think it is often overly so and excessive, and I’m most expressive when I am performing my craft. Or forming a draft that might never get finished. Maybe I write to adapt to a world that is constantly spinning. A world that threatens to leave me behind if I’m not consistently penning my speculations on every intriguing concept, challenging different views, and putting things into context. And maybe one day I will look back and reprocess all these long texts that comprise the majority of the contents of my mind and realize it was nonsense this whole time as if writing wasn’t wired to my cortex nor the fire at the heart of my every fiber. And I would not be surprised. Because I am not a writer, alright? I don’t even know why I write. But despite the lack of a why, I don’t think I could ever stop. These thoughts that run rampant through my brain will not be contained or neglected. Rather gathered, collected, and laid bare for the world to see that there rests in me a force with which to be reckoned. I will not waste a second of my time or a chance to promulgate, proclaim, or publicize my stance on any given issue, topic of discussion, or simple delight. No, I am not a writer. But I will not miss my chance to write.
By Youri Joseph4 years ago in Poets
Happiness
I don’t think happiness should be a word that can be universally defined. Confined to the limits of a concept that a group of minds decided some time was their idea of joy. I don’t particularly enjoy writing about something I don’t fully understand but I can try. Happiness to me is understanding and acceptance. It is not dependent on circumstance or the presence of anything or a particular person. It is knowing that no matter how bad things seem they could always worsen, and not permitting this thought to burden or add to one’s disconcertion, but rather allowing the assertion of this knowledge to not make one nervous, but hopeful instead. I may not have a 5 course meal but I’m happy with bread. In my past happiness meant looking ahead. The dread that diurnally filled me eternally killed me from the inside out. When I was told I would amount to the head count of an empty room. That my poems were paramount to a bristleless broom. Useless. Happiness to me is avoiding the excuses that might enter my thinking. Fending off the urge that compels me to stop and not diverge into the never ending labyrinth and stroll amidst the hyacinths without the slightest inkling or clue of what to say or what to do. It is the ability to make into reality not the one I have meticulously planned but the one that is currently unfolding, that is present, that is now. Knowing it will not always be pleasant, but, rest assured, some way, somehow, without a doubt we will emerge the victors in this bout that we call life. Regardless of our pains, anguishes, sorrows, or our worries, griefs, and strife, we will rise from the black of the ashes of tragic mishappens in glorious fashion and shine brighter than ever before. Because when life crashes around us we do not seek to restore what we already had, we do not attempt to make good from the bad, we leave good in the past, and in peace may it rest, and from it’s broken pieces we form better and best. Happiness to me is the free spirit within that longs for the warmth of the sun and the chill of the breeze. For the bliss of the song that the rain sings as it falls through the leaves of the trees. For the gentle undulations you feel as our Earth Mother breathes beneath our feet. Happiness to me is driving hours on end and suspending all of life's trivial tasks and not looking back as you search for the perfect river to leap into allowing the energy of life to seep into your soul. Happiness to me is knowing that the lonely coyote never grows old, just more wise and more slow. Happiness to me is the ability to exude the energy of a rose. Head high and receptive to both sunlight and rain with thorns to guard their heart from unneeded pain. Kind and care free with the unique ability to bond with others through unusual ties. It is the uncommon capacity to always find a way to make others smile. Happiness to me is not giving up on your dreams. Allowing your talent and influence to better this world. Leaving your mark and making sure that you’re heard. Happiness to me is staying focused and driven, living intentionally so that potentially all of your goals come to fruition. Happiness to me is trust in intuition. The head and the heart may lie but the spirit sees through a different eye and can discern which paths on this adventure are worth the venture and time. Happiness to me is creativity and art. In this crazy world of ours it is our escape and our deliverance. No wonder then the word art is an antonym for ignorance. My happiness is in large part influenced by the people around me. So to those who surround me thank you for bringing me joy. Happiness is the essence of a heart that is pure. It is life. It is joy. It is love. It is light. Happiness to me is a choice, not a right. And I choose to write. When I seek to be happy that’s what I do. So the question, I guess, is: what is happiness to you?
By Youri Joseph4 years ago in Motivation
Yin and Yang
Push and pull, hot and cold, ebb and flow, to and fro, I’ve learned that opposites aren’t so much so, they’re much more alike than they let on. It’s an astonishing phenomenon. What would one be without its antithesis? What is guilt without innocence? What is the end without the genesis? Arrival without exodus? Alien without indigineous? Simple without rigorous? Mountain without precipice? Belief without incredulous? Incompetence without specialists? A foundation without an edifice? A labyrinth without Daedalus? Débutant without emeritus? Giving without ungenerous? In the quiet is found the resonance that teaches volumes. The muses in their ballrooms encourage us to dance. The stance and steps of which is in perfect pitch and harmony with the trance of standing still. How transient the thrill of comforts made to last forever. How ambient the chill of slumber made to never sever. If life and death are opposites and opposites attract; does that mean we have to lose our life before we get it back? If life’s a one way ticket that can only lead to death? Does death then offer up new life after our final breath? The relationship is so intricate it may as well all be the same. The balance is so delicate between all yin and yang. What is love then without hate? What is master without slave? What holds me captive to my innate desire to be seen as someone great? But also to expire soon and retire early to my grave? The moon and ocean push and pull my soul in separate ways. And agony becomes my peace. I find solace in the pain. Refrain from reaching out to me. Abstain from calling out my name. Tranquility will purge me of all hostility in my veins. Harmony will grant me the ability to remain open to the change and versatility of this realm. I will allow yin and yang to overwhelm me completely. I will allow yin and yang to compel me and complete me.
By Youri Joseph4 years ago in Poets
Coffee Stains
I am a seed, I suppose. The chemicals that compose me will decompose and bleed my life force into the ground. My roots reach down, spread out, and surround me in a fortress of solitude. Let the earth, which resides in the depth of my iris, be imbued with the virus of piety. The paradox lies in the sense that in this unstable and uncertain society we leave no room for dubiety of any variety. Cling to me. I am a deity. I will hold you tighter than the grip of addiction from the nicotine in the cigarette sticks I slip between my rose red lips. While like Atlas of old I spin on my axis and hold the two poles of this realm in calloused rough palms, and direct you to follow the stars as you sail across my sun-kissed skin and find there in, within this wrinkle of time we call life, my reason for living eternally. I am diurnally hoping my internal stains are from coffee not sin. I am akin with the nature of time and its flow, but, for reasons unknown, I’m not bound by it. I stem from a place before the beginning. Yesterday I was, I am, and will be. Today I am me. Tomorrow the world will keep spinning and my garden will bloom. Roses entomb my core as their thorns draw out of me a river of tears. So, cheers with a coffee mug that will spill down its side to restain the inside of me. In hindsight my open third eye could always see that time and me are cognate. We are intimate. I am infinite.
By Youri Joseph4 years ago in Poets
I Don’t Know
I’ve experienced many things the few years I’ve grown on this globe that have led me to an undeniable truth and it’s this: There are a lot of things that I simply don’t know. And don’t get me wrong. I’ve craved understanding on a universal scale. I’ve searched far and wide for the holy grail of knowledge, but I’m not sure it exists. I tend to convince myself to insist that I resist to live amidst this mist of obscurity that shrouds me from reaching concrete conclusions about life’s greatest confusions. I’ve wanted to know with a surety whether or not God is real. But what can be used as indisputable evidence? And I don’t mean to speak with disrespect or irreverence. That said I also cannot conceal how I feel, and I have felt a presence. Whether we’re presented life after this present one I may never be sure, but let me assure you I have felt the essence of pure energy before. But the question ‘was it God or a ghost?’ I have no answer for. Is God a metaphor to cope with my unyielding ignorance? If so, should that make any difference? I don’t know. I just don’t. But I won’t tell a believer they’re wasting their time because as far as I know I’m wasting mine. And who’s to say that we can’t both be right. Light and night exist simultaneously all be they contrasting. The shade we’ve been casting over opposing beliefs causes nothing but grief and conflict. We’re convicts. Prisoners to a fixed mindset that derives from our primitive nature. This way of thinking is crazy. Got us going ballistic. Guru Sam once told me the nature of man is animalistic and thinking realistically he’s gotta be right. Did you know most mammals are color blind? And like animals we tend to see in black or in white. It’s either or, we refuse to even consider the ‘and’. We draw a line in the proverbial sand, seek not to understand our fellow man or try even to comprehend how we can go about things in a better way. We fear what is foreign unless it’s cars or chardonnay. Pay no respect to the perspectives that differ from our own. Our directives are home grown in our own respective motherlands. But why can’t home be Mother Earth? Are our differing opinions worth world war or resentment towards what some girl who’s pregnant might think about abortion or child birth? To me being liberal, independent, or conservative should have as much clout as using jam, jelly, or preserves in your pb&j it’s not fucking important. And no, I’m not down playing the stresses or consequences of issues such as abortion. I’m only asking what all the endless debates have accomplished. We’re allowed to think differently. And yes, we’re allowed to express it. I’m only suggesting we attempt to stop all the hate. Entire countries and states are becoming irate over news that is fake. We don’t have to allow the government to create these illusions or dictate the confusion through their oral pollution all because they state nonsense with a straight look on their face. Hear me out. I think there’s a reason they silenced the letter ‘K’ in the word ‘Know’. To make us think ‘Now’ is when we have to figure it out. That’s not true. If they can quiet the ‘K’ we can erase the ‘W’. ‘Now’ becomes ‘No’ as in no mother fucker we will not remain under you. No longer will we be suppressed or falsely impressed with your staggering ability to digress our nature back to men in their caves. No. We will no longer blindly behave as if we were your children. We’re not. You’ve fathered nothing but rage while Mother Nature has taught us to evolve and to change. And we have. Having all the answers and being right is not all it’s chalked up to be. Living life with love and understanding brings balance and harmony. So go on. Ask me why gravity doesn't turn all clouds into fog. Ask me what colors are duller in the eyes of a dog. Ask me about the heavens, the cosmos, the gods. Ask me if it matters to whom, how, or if we pray. Ask me if there’s life after life or just endless gray. Ask me when mankind will find it high time to turn from its ways. I don’t know. I just don’t. But I know that’s okay.
By Youri Joseph4 years ago in Poets
Queen of the Roses
You with all of your eloquent beauty, lips more red than rubies, whose seemingly solitaire duty is to glisten and gleam, somewhere between the dazzling stars and the dancing of sunlight that bounces off streams. Yes, you. Why do you pain me so? You must know by now that I will remain undaunted, unpained, and unhaunted by whatever lies behind or beneath where your bristles grow. Show me your endless reserves of strength you preserve in an armoire of treasures and riches. Show me your mental capacity that dares the audacity to create with both hammer and stitches your armor and sword, not for fighting or war, rather fending off judgemental bitches, who chase nothing more than your alluring appearance. This grievance displeases those who have learned that they ought to yearn to earn your respect and acquaintance. Should they not adore you? Queen of the Roses. Should they not adorn you with copious stories of your immortal glories and focus their every energy on your heavenly reverie? Should they not implore you to bequeath and bestow a fragment of your endless talent though they be beneath and below the worth of the dust of your feet? Like veins of magma that flow under the surface of skin that covers our Earth Mother, they boil with rage yet always remain caged and contained. And though they roar as the thunder when the sky unloads the rain, you thrive and retain your limitless luster. And muster the strength to hold your head high and strike like the lightning, not with weapon or force, but with frightening beauty and inexorable grace. Your visage shines bright as though dew drops embellish your face. Stand proud in the place you’ve so long been shackled to the same soil that brought budding new life from your roots. Until they deduce that they can reduce you of worth as it suits them. They cut you down and displace you, decrown and disgrace you. In an ornate and intricate vase they display your truncated, intimate carcass so openly. Hopelessly overlooking your inborn potency, they gaze at your beauty with envy and scorn. Yet, you do not mourn their open disdain. You know just as sure as the clouds come with their rain and the sun rises with morn, and the harvest brings grain, barley, or corn, no matter what ill will their desire imposes you are Queen of the Roses. You were born wild, beautiful, sought after, and free. So let them be warned, this is written and sworn: every woman is a rose and every rose has its thorns.
By Youri Joseph4 years ago in Poets
Innate Senescence
Flow through me sands of time. Connect these weary joints of mine like constellations in the open heavens. Flow in me and fill me with strength. Flow through me and strip me of memory, of love, of pain. Weave my cycle of life in every direction like endless rows of grain that grow, wither, and sprout again to ripen in their season on a back country road. Who knows where we’ll go? Like a doe in the dark you are silent but wary. Like a lost fawn in your fields, I’m alone. Hold me, dear time. Though your chalice of age may be bitter, I drink. Your love tastes warm like the sunlight that wrinkles my skin. Begin now, or before, or never, it’s fine. With you I am safe. Like the inside of this stick I keep breathing, I tell myself that my needing for you is within my control. But even I don’t believe me. Don’t leave me. Let your roots and my own intertwine like the grandest of oaks in the mightiest woods. Your harmony, balance, and nature complete me. Draw me in. Allow me to see your true nature. I’m willing to wager all that I have that the candor beneath your reality actually affably approaches the distinct duality of eternity itself. A divine dichotomy, hinging on the improbably true fact that all things that exist do so due to your presence. Make me one with you. Give thought to my conscience with adept incessance. Allow me to feel of your essence. Make me infinite. Innate senescence.
By Youri Joseph4 years ago in Poets
The Revolution
Gone. Seek not for them here. We’ve banished complacency and sidestepped our fear. Although weighed down by sorrows amassed by misfortunes, misjudgments, and prejudices forged in the past, we’ve steeled our nerves at last and climbed our mountain of tears. In this new dawn we’ve risen with hope for tomorrow by starting today to make sure that change in a positive way is happening around us. And though many may attempt to confound us they will find us resilient to their utter derangement. We will be firm in our open estrangement of any that strive to tell us all lives have been given fair chances. Our steps will become leaps and bounds as we take our advances. And under no circumstances will we allow that a force of any kind slow us down. We will round up any and all willing to be called an ally and cry forth with one voice, with one heart. We will each do our part to assure beyond doubt that the future be bright for this nation and her people. That this land may be peaceful and open to all who yearn to leave a positive mark. This spark has ignited a fire that will grow into a conflagration, spread the expanse of this vast nation and refuse to be doused, put out, or go dark. Rather burn brightly so all may see it and know, this place we call home, is safe no matter your race or your color. No matter who you choose to love or who you choose to be. One day we will all get along with each other. Our children can grow old in a different world. One with less hatred, less anger, and one with less hurt. One where their safety comes first no matter who is in office. And though we can never fully atone for the horrific losses that families have had to endure, we can change the future and make sure to learn from our past. We are not afraid of failure because we understand it is the only path to success. We will test fate again and again and our best efforts will be victorious overall in the end. So to those who oppose this age of equality go search with ferocity the fearful who will not stand with their fist held high. Search for those willing to sit idly by as countless innocent people lay down their lives as they try to survive the hardship of simply living in this day and age. And if you are upset by our rage that is understandable. But we ask that you muster forth in the very least a commendable attempt to comprehend the severity of the issue. We only wish you to see us as humans as well. Human rights should not be something politicians can barter or sell in hopes to be elected. They should not need be demanded but rather expected and granted to all who have not forfeited freedom by crime or by treason. There should not be a reason that this be debated. So many races, and people, orientations feel jaded because they have waited and worked for something they were promised since birth and many places all over our Earth Mother have been able to offer these most basic of rights to blacks, straights, gays, and to whites at no difference of cost. But here, in the land of the free, some pay for these with gunshots to the back. Some pay with their life as they walk home from the store getting snacks. Some pay in their sleep, killed while laying in bed. And will continue to pay until there is justice for the dead. Some pay on the ground devoid of even the slightest speck of respect with knees on the neck until breath can’t be drawn and they’re gone with dying thoughts of their mom, as their children watch on choking back sobs. Do not tell me the cop was just doing their job. I have sat in the passenger seat of the car, been asked to search the glove box for an insurance card. And been alarmed by the reaction of the officer present who reached for his weapon within thirty seconds of me doing nothing but the task he had asked. I had to slowly return my hands to where they’re normally at, in plain sight, fingers wide on the dash. And yes. These things happen because I am black. So if truly you hope to make America great, do not conflate the problems with the solutions, do not fixate yourself on newsrooms’ oral pollution, do not abrogate rights promised by this land's constitution, rather demonstrate your love and stand with this revolution. I hope only to arbitrate and guide amidst the confusion, so if you do not believe that we can find common ground and work together towards positive reformation then you have nothing to gain from my words henceforth. If it’s friendship, support, or acceptance you search, seek not for them here. We have banished complacency and sidestepped our fear. Our voices will ring through the rocks of our Earth Mother. We will unite and be one as sisters and brothers, friends and lovers, we will rise up and lift each other. We will join forces and tether ourselves in the name of true freedom to weather the formation of storm clouds that will attempt to rain down on and douse our movement that is spreading like a wall of flames. Together we will fight until the hills are ablaze with our victorious cries, with our cheer, with our laughter. And after, to prevent that history repeat, this feat will live on indefinitely. We will forever and always remember the hate we were able to shatter. And it will forever be known that regardless of color, orientation, and all other discriminations, we have a right to be human, and duly be treated. It will forever be known after our foes have conceded, that we are not beneath or below anyone on this globe. We won’t have to debate it, or explain it, but rather, with fist to the sky, cry, we do truly matter.
By Youri Joseph4 years ago in Poets
Tell Her
If I could speak my truth, I would tell her that I don’t care that she’s given up on men. I would tell her the things I avoid saying whenever I pen phrases that serve simply to beat around the bush. Just like that last sentence. I would offer repentance for the deeds that were done by others that damaged her trust and caused her to disparage her worth. I would tell her that nothing on earth compares to her and though the search may continue for millennia to come there will not be found one single item, element, star, moon, or sun that can rival her beauty. I would tell her that she is truly gifted. Explain that she has more talent in one finger lifted than most people have in their family tree. I would tell her that she is most definitely going to succeed in whatever she deems worthy of her time and effort. I would tell her that I would love nothing more than to be one of the reasons she smiles each day and I would find as many new ways to make that happen as possible. If I could, I would tell her that I have not been open and honest with her from the start. Cuz you see, in my heart, I knew from day one that I was in trouble. The simple fact that I stuttered and stumbled my way through each conversation that I tried to make told me clear, cut, and plain; this woman is special, even more so than most. I would tell her that I do not know of any other person as remarkably captivating, no one even comes close. I would tell her how I hope that one day I’ll be able to come home early from work just to bring flowers, make dinner, feed the cat, walk the dog, and make sure everything was in order before she returned. So that in turn she would not have to worry about trivial tasks. I would ask how her day was and listen intently. We could sip wine, watch a movie, and then consequently we might fall asleep. I would lift her to bed and tuck her in gently, leave her with the soft touch of my lips on her cheek. Sneak away to the kitchen to grind beans for the morning. Set the place for her coffee and spend the next hour adorning the table with little notes of the things that I might have forgotten to say while she was awake. Like “just so you know, love, you look beautiful today”. If I could speak my truth, I would tell her that I’m scared to lose the slight chance I might have to one day be a significant part of her life. I would tell her that, even though I know I do, I’m afraid to admit to her face that I love her. I would tell her how I’ve used the fact that I want nothing more for her than that she be happy forever as a reason to never tell her of my feelings. I would explain how I know I do not measure up but how one day, I hope when I amount to enough, for better or worse I’ll tell her of my love. And whether or not I’m crushed by the lack of an “I love you too” really won’t matter, because at least I will know I’d finally spoken my truth.
By Youri Joseph4 years ago in Poets
The Commander
“12 years. 12 years I have served as a rocketeer space cadet of the interstellar commission. The mission I chose to accept as I took my first steps in this field granted me the excitement of exploring the ever expanding expanse of this section of space that man has never been able to conquer therefore never corrupt. I have watched the sun come up and then set from the surface of the luminous moon. I have seen the beautiful earth do the same from that surface too. And believe you me, an earthrise is a surprise I never surmised that my eyes were deprived of until I had seen it. Such scenic teases of pieces of the Milky Way forever ingrained in the forefront of my brain. Memories that could never fade or be taken away stay hidden and safe from such threats as Alzheimer’s or amnesia. Even after a blow to the back of the dome that leaves me on my knees, you will still never see me forget the marvelous view of the moons of our neighboring planets as they move into my line of sight. I’ve seen rain fall upwards from the bottom of planets as gravity pulls the storm towards its center. I’ve watched lightning splinter and glow through the breaks in the clouds that the atmosphere holds in place somehow. But now in this moment as I realize that my line has been untied or untethered and I’ve been condemned to drift on forever, these scenes are becoming more jarring and cold, marring the memories I hold as the galaxy folds and I’m swallowed up in the crease. Please. Please, just speak to me during these, my last moments before I finally release my spirit to the darkness and unnatural peace found in the endless amounts of lightless, lifeless, nothing.”
By Youri Joseph4 years ago in Futurism