"I simply hide behind my masks. Oh, how I hate these masks! Under them I can hardly breathe."
Dear people,
I would like to ask آپ a سوال – the سوال 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 آپ 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 آپ understand me? What did I do that آپ judge me? Are آپ really envious of me? آپ don’t have to. I wouldn’t wish آپ to be me…
Maybe آپ just want me to confess my ‘guilt’.
Yes, it is true, I do love children! But not the way آپ 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 یا other terrible diseases. I won’t let آپ forbid me through your arrogance to give them just one happy day!
Yes, it is true that I had plastic surgeries! Do آپ 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 آپ see that I’m punishing myself for that I cannot cope with my face – and with myself! Why do آپ also punish me for it?
Yes, it is true, once I was black! آپ get darker in the sun and get admired for that. But I am sick and آپ hit me for it. The sun آپ 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 آپ make your fun out of it. If I hadn’t become the Michael Jackson آپ 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 آپ 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 آپ prefer it when I was dead? یا when I had never existed? But then آپ wouldn’t have my music! Would آپ like to do without ‘Billie Jean’?! My موسیقی آپ love though, don’t you? Just not me. But I create the موسیقی to make آپ happy.
آپ torture me with your disgraceful words. Words can sometimes hurt so much مزید than punchs. Often I sit in an edge and cry. I ask God for what I have to suffer, what a reason I’ve دیا you. Cause I never did harm to anyone. I am afraid of آپ ‘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 آپ don’t like it when I protect myself. You’d prefer to kick a defenceless man in his face. but this favour 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 people who understand my message.
My دوستوں and me, we don’t go into the war with tanks. We come with sunflowers to all of آپ even though آپ laugh at us and snap our flowers off. Maybe آپ 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 آپ would be outraged: “And the children?!” Particularly آپ would say that, آپ who would love the most to take my children away from me. آپ say they aren’t my children. آپ say I couldn’t educate them. How do آپ 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 آپ blind for what love means.
آپ don’t know me, nevertheless آپ have already judged me! You, those reporters who hammer me at the پار, صلیب in the morning, آپ listen to my موسیقی in the evening! That is not fair! آپ are not interested in what آپ 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 آپ write something positive, there آپ wouldn’t have to تلاش so long! Why do I have to be ‘Wacko Jacko’? Can’t آپ see that the only one I’m hurting is myself?! آپ hunt me like I was a piece of cattle. Isn’t there anybody who sees that I’m also a human being?! Where do آپ have your heart? Where do آپ have your mercy? Where do آپ 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.
Peace, Love and Kindness
From my heart, Michael Jackson."
EDIT: I'M NOT 100% SURE THIS IS WRITTEN سے طرف کی MICHAEL, PROBABLY A پرستار WHO WROTE IT. IT'S STILL A GOOD LETTER THOUGH! HATERS SHOULD READ IT...
