Reading your letter I had to cry in thankfulness. For that there is someone out there who understands me. Maybe there are more. If I may I'd like to write some sentences to the people of the world. Sentences you will never find in your newspapers, because for that they are not spectacular enough.
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 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 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.
Peace, Love and Kindness
From my heart, Michael Jackson.
