BeeJayMj
2
A Letter
Dear people, I would like to ask you a question – the question WHY.
Why is there so much poverty in the world? Why so many wars? Why so
much torture and agony? And why must children die and innocent
suffer? I don't understand it. Do you understand it?
I want to help. I want to make people happy, and may it be just for
a moment. That is what gives my life a sense. Don't you understand me?
What did I do that you judge me? Are you really envious of me? You
don't have to. I wouldn't wish you to be me…
Maybe you just want me to confess my `guilt':
Yes, it is true, I do love children! But not the way you want it to
be. I love them from the bottom of my heart. Because children don't
make wars. Children have never hurt me. It makes me happy to look in
their shining eyes. Is it a crime wanting to be happy and want to
make others happy? Many of them who visit me are going to die soon,
of cancer or other terrible diseases. I won't let you forbid me
through your arrogance to give them just one happy day!
Yes, it is true that I had plastic surgeries! Do you know what it
feels like?! How often did I have to wake up in pain! How often I
didn't know what would expect me when I look into the mirror! How
often did I cry when I did it! Don't you see that I'm punishing
myself for that I cannot cope with my face – and with myself! Why do
you also punish me for it? Yes, it is true, once I was black! You get darker in
the sun and get
admired for that. But I am sick and you hit me for it. The sun you
love so much can kill me. In former times I loved to be outside in
the light, too, now I can nearly only go out at night. And you make
your fun out of it. If I hadn't become the Michael Jackson you know
today, then I would also be like that: I would be a white black with
curls and a thick niggernose for which everybody would tease me.
Well, now you tease me because of my little nose. Maybe I would
already be dead because I couldn't protect myself so good as I can
today. Would you prefer it when I was dead? Or when I had never
existed? But then you wouldn't have my music! Would you like to do
without `Billie Jean’? My music you love though, don't you? Just
not me. But I create the music to make you happy.
You torture me with your disgraceful words. Words can sometimes hurt
so much more than punchs. Often I sit in an edge and cry. I ask God
for what I have to suffer what a reason I've given you. Cause I
never did harm to anyone. I am afraid of you `cause you've hurt me
so badly. And I don't even defend myself. I simply hide behind my
masks. Oh, how I hate these masks! Under them I can hardly breathe. But I
have no choice, it's the only way to protect myself. But you don't
like it when I protect myself. You'd prefer to kick a defenseless
man in his face. But this favor I won't do you. I don't need to be
ashamed for anything I've done. And as I can see at you, dear
Unknown there are peoples who understand my message.
My friends and me, we don't go into the war with tanks. We come with
sunflowers to all of you even though you laugh at us and snap our
flowers off. Maybe you will understand not before not only the
flowers but the whole sun goes out. With my music, with what I do I
would like to bring a light into the world. But is it necessary that
I kill myself until someone believes me? And until someone believes
me that I just want to do good things and that I suffer from your
hate? But then you would be outraged: "And the children?!"
Particularly you would say that, you who would love the most to take
my children away from me. You say they aren't my children. You say I
couldn't educate them. How do you want to know this?! And is it
important then what blood is flowing through their veins when I
would die for them? Your jealousy and your hate make you blind for what
love means. You don't know me, nevertheless you have already judged me! You,
those reporters who hammer me at the cross in the morning, you
listen to my music in the evening! That is not fair! You are not interested
in what you write if it just attracts readers and causes headlines.
But my name is enough to attract the people. Why is it always
necessary to denounce me? Why don't you write something positive,
there you wouldn't have to search so long! Why do I have to be
`Wacko Jacko'? Can't you see that the only one I'm hurting is myself?! You
hunt me like I was a piece of cattle. Isn't there anybody who sees
that I'm also a human being?! Where do you have your heart? Where do
you have your mercy? Where do you have your love?
If just one out of ten people who get this letter tries to
understand me, already then my life is it worth being lived.
Michael Jackson
Dear people, I would like to ask you a question – the question WHY.
Why is there so much poverty in the world? Why so many wars? Why so
much torture and agony? And why must children die and innocent
suffer? I don't understand it. Do you understand it?
I want to help. I want to make people happy, and may it be just for
a moment. That is what gives my life a sense. Don't you understand me?
What did I do that you judge me? Are you really envious of me? You
don't have to. I wouldn't wish you to be me…
Maybe you just want me to confess my `guilt':
Yes, it is true, I do love children! But not the way you want it to
be. I love them from the bottom of my heart. Because children don't
make wars. Children have never hurt me. It makes me happy to look in
their shining eyes. Is it a crime wanting to be happy and want to
make others happy? Many of them who visit me are going to die soon,
of cancer or other terrible diseases. I won't let you forbid me
through your arrogance to give them just one happy day!
Yes, it is true that I had plastic surgeries! Do you know what it
feels like?! How often did I have to wake up in pain! How often I
didn't know what would expect me when I look into the mirror! How
often did I cry when I did it! Don't you see that I'm punishing
myself for that I cannot cope with my face – and with myself! Why do
you also punish me for it? Yes, it is true, once I was black! You get darker in
the sun and get
admired for that. But I am sick and you hit me for it. The sun you
love so much can kill me. In former times I loved to be outside in
the light, too, now I can nearly only go out at night. And you make
your fun out of it. If I hadn't become the Michael Jackson you know
today, then I would also be like that: I would be a white black with
curls and a thick niggernose for which everybody would tease me.
Well, now you tease me because of my little nose. Maybe I would
already be dead because I couldn't protect myself so good as I can
today. Would you prefer it when I was dead? Or when I had never
existed? But then you wouldn't have my music! Would you like to do
without `Billie Jean’? My music you love though, don't you? Just
not me. But I create the music to make you happy.
You torture me with your disgraceful words. Words can sometimes hurt
so much more than punchs. Often I sit in an edge and cry. I ask God
for what I have to suffer what a reason I've given you. Cause I
never did harm to anyone. I am afraid of you `cause you've hurt me
so badly. And I don't even defend myself. I simply hide behind my
masks. Oh, how I hate these masks! Under them I can hardly breathe. But I
have no choice, it's the only way to protect myself. But you don't
like it when I protect myself. You'd prefer to kick a defenseless
man in his face. But this favor I won't do you. I don't need to be
ashamed for anything I've done. And as I can see at you, dear
Unknown there are peoples who understand my message.
My friends and me, we don't go into the war with tanks. We come with
sunflowers to all of you even though you laugh at us and snap our
flowers off. Maybe you will understand not before not only the
flowers but the whole sun goes out. With my music, with what I do I
would like to bring a light into the world. But is it necessary that
I kill myself until someone believes me? And until someone believes
me that I just want to do good things and that I suffer from your
hate? But then you would be outraged: "And the children?!"
Particularly you would say that, you who would love the most to take
my children away from me. You say they aren't my children. You say I
couldn't educate them. How do you want to know this?! And is it
important then what blood is flowing through their veins when I
would die for them? Your jealousy and your hate make you blind for what
love means. You don't know me, nevertheless you have already judged me! You,
those reporters who hammer me at the cross in the morning, you
listen to my music in the evening! That is not fair! You are not interested
in what you write if it just attracts readers and causes headlines.
But my name is enough to attract the people. Why is it always
necessary to denounce me? Why don't you write something positive,
there you wouldn't have to search so long! Why do I have to be
`Wacko Jacko'? Can't you see that the only one I'm hurting is myself?! You
hunt me like I was a piece of cattle. Isn't there anybody who sees
that I'm also a human being?! Where do you have your heart? Where do
you have your mercy? Where do you have your love?
If just one out of ten people who get this letter tries to
understand me, already then my life is it worth being lived.
Michael Jackson