When the world thinks of Curtis Mayfield, it remembers the voice of conscience, the soul behind timeless songs like “People Get Ready” and “Move On Up.” He was a poet, a prophet, and a soft-spoken giant in a brutal industry. But in his final days—stripped of stage lights, movement, and fame—Curtis didn’t just reflect on love and justice.

He reflected on betrayal.

And in one of his most painfully honest moments, he whispered six names. Six women. Six voices once celebrated beside his. But to him, they were the source of some of his deepest emotional scars.

“I gave them everything. And they gave me silence, shade, or shame.”

Paralyzed from the neck down after a tragic stage accident in 1990, Curtis spent the last years of his life confined to a bed. But his mind? Sharp. His memory? Crystal clear.

And when one of his closest collaborators came to visit him just months before his passing in 1999, Curtis didn’t want to talk about music. He wanted to talk about what hurt most.

“People think when you’re dying, you forget all the bad. But no—when you’re dying, you remember the betrayals with perfect detail,” he said, barely above a whisper.

He then leaned in closer and said, “You wanna know who broke me? I’ll tell you. But promise me you won’t let the world forget.”

And so, he began.

The first name shocked everyone.

“She was the biggest name on stage. A voice like thunder. But she was cruel. We did a duet once, and she tried to erase my name from the credits. Told the label I was ‘holding her back.’ And I admired her. I really did.”

According to Curtis, this woman not only minimized his contributions but actively told promoters to leave him off certain shows.

“She saw me as competition when all I wanted was collaboration.”

“She called me brother. We shared stages, hotel rooms, prayers. But when I was accused of something I didn’t do, she disappeared. No call. No defense. Just silence. Like I never existed.”

Curtis said her abandonment during a public scandal nearly broke his spirit.

“It’s not the lies that hurt. It’s who chooses to believe them.”

This one, he said, was personal.

“She pretended to love me. She sang songs with me, danced with me, even told me she was in love. But the whole time, she was using me to launch her solo career.”

He paused.

“She even lied to a journalist, said I ‘begged her’ to be on my record. I never begged anyone. I believed her.”

This betrayal, he said, was the first time he truly stopped trusting female artists around him.

“She sang about God. She told everyone she was ‘pure.’ But she stole from me. A whole melody. One of my unfinished songs. Took it, changed the words, and made it a hit.”

Curtis said he never took legal action because it wasn’t his style. But the pain lingered.

“She could’ve just asked. She could’ve given me credit. But she acted like I was nobody.”

This singer, known for her activism and outspoken spirit, was once a close ally to Curtis during the civil rights era.

“But when things got ugly—when the labels blacklisted me for being too ‘political’—she walked away. She didn’t just walk. She ran.”

He claimed she later gave interviews distancing herself from him, saying, “Curtis went too far.”

“And now they call her a revolutionary? Please. She stood on my back, not beside me.”

This name, he hesitated to say.

“She’ll always have a part of me. But I hate what she became.”

Curtis revealed they were romantically involved for a brief time, and he even considered marrying her.

“But fame changed her. She started mocking me to others. Said I was ‘too soft, too deep.’ She told people, ‘Curtis is a poet, not a hitmaker.’ Like that was a flaw.”

He added with a cracked voice, “She made me feel like I wasn’t enough.”

Curtis made it clear: his anger wasn’t about gender. It was about betrayal.

“I worked with incredible women. But these six? They chipped away at me. Not just my name, my legacy, but my belief in people.”

He said the industry had a way of glamorizing relationships, especially between iconic men and women, but behind the scenes, there were power plays, backstabs, and unspoken wars.

“They smiled in my face. Then turned their backs.”

Curtis never wanted to die with bitterness in his heart. But he also didn’t want to sugarcoat his truth.

“I’ve forgiven most of them,” he said. “But I’ll never forget. Because remembering keeps me honest.”

He said he hoped the story wouldn’t become gossip but a lesson.

“Fame is a mirror. Some people look in it and see love. Others see power. And they’ll burn everything to hold it.”

In the end, Curtis Mayfield’s music remains one of the most uplifting bodies of work in American history. His lyrics preached unity, dignity, and soul. But the man behind the mic? He carried wounds the world never saw.

And in his final hours, those wounds had names.

Not because he wanted revenge.

But because he wanted the truth.