Shards of Red

At 24, I look back at 12, foggily, only vacantly reminisced in my memory.

Through the garnet lens, I looked at my past, so far away.

I saw a kid who was fueled with rage and anger.

Before I was dropping bars, I was dropping bodies.

Before I was throwing my hands up in the air,

I was throwing fists, throwing fits, bits of red in his stare.

For all he saw in crimson shades,

his family knew only a grim son's blades

through daggered eyes, his blood boils.

A means to quell the imbalance in his brain playing violins,

but the world of arts was not enough to sate his violence,

Marooned in his own mind of torment.

And I didn't want that anymore.

But through the telescopic lens, I see this kid,

if ever an opportune for me to turn back time,

or give him a message to change his ways,

I wouldn't do it.

In all the fire he had in his heart and soles,

I knew he had to feel the heat.

Only in ashes can we be reborn.

Across the distance of time between him and me,

He was me, and we are one,

There's still that kid within me, but I'm only larger,

with that same blood coursing through us.

For all he did that I'd look down upon

has brought me up to the person I am today.