For Michael
I've been working on this poem ever since MJ died. Today, I finished it. I wanted to post it here, on my blog, in memory of him.
[IMG]http://i536.photobucket.com/albums/ff328/sweetbabeXx/michael-jackson.jpg[/IMG]
Sometimes I feel as if this was not something you wanted to do,
it was something forced upon you, out of your control.
From dusk until dawn you worked, your mistakes, though you were young
were punished until you were black and blue,
and still the world was naive in knowing, we never knew the real "you."
"Little Michael" they called you, we had you as our own.
We played your records, sang your songs, and loved your pitch perfect high voice
and yet, we never saw that your work, your talent, your life, your day to day doings
were not your choice.
You asked for more, but was given less.
If you were in this, you wanted to be for sure.
You wanted to be the greatest this world had ever known.
When you were unable to stray on your own path and write your own tune,
they pulled you near, scolded you dear, and said to you "we still need you for our own."
When at last, you were given the chance to dance to your own beat,
you introduced us to the world of "the new songs", the ones you said you especially liked.
Your moves: they were special, they were almost unbelievable. . .
the way you glided across the floor, the way you sang those tunes and hummed the melody
were nothing like what we had ever seen before.
The years went by and you wowed us again and again
and yet we always remembered you as a celebrity, never as a human being.
People judged you, they took all of the rumors to be true
and still the world was naive in knowing, we never knew the real "you."
You gave us everything you had, you gave us butterflies, you gave us pearls, you showed us your world.
You took the crap and all the situations the best you possibly could.
You would smile and shrug, acting as if it was just part of the world,
but it wasn't.
We never understood, we never saw your heart.
We never caught the tears that would continually fall down, we broke you piece by piece a part.
Your soul was aching and torn, we caused you so much pain.
You see, we had forgotten that you were just like us.
You were not crazy, you were not insane.
You were so beautiful and so bright, so talented and so sweet.
You gave us every little thing we wanted, though this world seemed to lack everything you need.
You smiled and shrugged, acted as if it was just part of this world, the way it was meant to be,
but it wasn't, and we could not see,
that sometimes you were hurting, sometimes you would bleed.
You poured your body into the song, like precious water to a seed.
You gave us your life, you gave us your talent, you gave us your lyric,
but we were filled with greed.
We wanted everything, they wanted everything.
Sometimes you were barely getting by, sometimes you could hardly even breathe.
You found it difficult to go on, but you did it all for us, all for me.
I heard your words through your cover of your favorite song, "Smile even though your heart is aching"
and I knew it to be true.
You were the boy next door, a father, a son, a friend, a musician:
a human being just like everyone.
Still after all the attacks, all of the rotten ridiculous judgment, you were there for the children,
their opinion was the most important to you, you said.
You were there for them, your music mattered to them, you would hold their hand.
You were innocent and caring, a rarity in this world and yet the media chose to pick you a part
every little piece, killing your heart
slowly overtime.
Still you would laugh and occasionally you would grin, you had the most beautiful grin.
We meant everything to you, you loved us,
and yet rumor after rumor we believed to be true, no one cared, no one thought to ask themselves "is this really the truth?"
The media would cock their huge closed heads, laugh and point with their dirty fingers and haughtily declare "there he goes again."
"Wacko Jacko," they would call you.
Sticks and stones broke your bones and words, well they killed you.
