(This Monologue is about Michael Jackson)
All I could hear was the noise was coming from the crowd of fans that stood before me, crying my name. No. Screaming my name. I never let that into my head ever when I was performing for I never thought when I dance nor sing. I felt. I felt the music and rythym of my own art beneath my very own dancing feet and how the music flowed into my ears, causing my eardrums to vibrate violently to allow me to hear what was coming from the large speakers set all over the stage.
On stage I felt alive and it felt that all the room in my heart was taken up by the thrill of performing my own songs in front of the very people who want to see, who want to hear, and who want to feel the happiness wafting about the auditorium as if it were a contagious influenza. Off stage I felt like there's something missing from my life. For as long as I can remember I knew what I have been missing. My childhood. Ever since my birth Joseph has never treated me, nor my siblings, with the respect and love that we so dearly needed, and we all could receive that respect and love from the best mother in the world. Kathrine. My mother. My everything. Whenever I felt sorrow and tragedy I would run to her and nestle my face into her shirt and just sob while she stroked my head gently and consoled me, saying, "It will all be okay." and with those words flowing right out of her mouth and into my ears I would immediately stop crying and smile, "I love you mother." I would say right back. When I was about five years old Joseph found out that I, even for a small child, had the most angelic singing voice in history and without my saying, he put me in our family singing group as the lead singer. Little did we all know, even me, what would become of me in the future. I spent the next ten or so years recording in the studio. Not once have I been allowed to go out into the front yard to play like I should have. As I got older I found myself slowly sinking into the abyss of insanity as boring, lonely memories of my childhood buzzed about in my head to remind me of how terrible those years were and drifting away from the people I held close to my heart. Insanity pulled me in and when I was fully devoured I was all alone. No mother to console me. No brothers to laugh with. No one to love.
The insanity started when I was in my twenties when no one knew anything about me. Yet. Before concerts I would go crazy buying carts and carts of toys and batteries to put in the toys and after concerts I would give to small, innocent, unpriveleged children the very toys I have bought at the store only hours ago. Then the insanity got worse when I started spending my time playing with small children, and I payed no attention to the rumors that sprung up until one day one man tried to send me to jail and end my career with one rumor, no, accusation, that had scarred me for the rest of my chaotic life. Even after the business was settled and the man not bothering me anymore I still spent my time with the purest, most innocent beings in the world. Children. Only to fill the empty void that should've been my missing childhood. With the depression that followed I began taking the strongest drugs in the world. Drugs that shouldn't have been in my hands to begin with because if they hadn't been I would still be around today to take care of my three beautiful children and maybe my comeback tour would've started by now. The only feeling I feel right now as I look down on the very people that had loved me -and it's no suprise that they still do- is regret and desire. Regret that I wished I had never put my hands on the very things that had killed me. Desire that I want to spend some more time with my beloved family.
Who am I you ask?
I am Michael Jackson.
 xSILENT - - s e r a p h · Sun Jun 28, 2009 @ 10:24pm · 0 Comments |
