Mixed Signals

If I woulda known for sure, I woulda taken you in my arms, placed and slid my open palms up and down the skin of your back and become angered at the straps of your dress criss crossing against the path my hands were taking.

If I woulda known for sure, I woulda let my suited self be the area you could land your tipsy body within, allowing the plum silk of your second skin slide against the crispness of my collared shirt.

If I woulda known for sure, I woulda felt the backs of your arms with my fingertips and forced myself to hold your hands in mine because I wouldn't want to seem too eager.

If I woulda known for sure, I woulda let you unbuckle my buckle, so that the metal wouldn't get in the way of my second skin, so we could be soft against soft, feeling that heat from our heart beat pulsing in other areas.

If I woulda known for sure, I woulda let you slip my jacket off my stiff shoulders and let my concoction of cologne and sweat hit your nose when I went in to taste the day off the side of your neck.

If I woulda known for sure, I woulda let your bare feet stand on the tops of my polished dress shoes, let the sticky of your sweaty breathing feet suction on the tops and I would hold you tighter for more grip on the crevices of my surface.

If I woulda known for sure, I woulda let you kiss me, letting you taste the henny on my breath, letting me taste the wine on yours as you unbuttoned the white button on the top of my dress shirt… and the rest.

If I would known for sure, I woulda let my hands run down the curve of where your waist meets hips and find rest there to pulley up the rest of your dress, letting your whole body breathe in my moist change in weather.

If I woulda known for sure, I woulda kissed you back while playing with the fabric that covers all of your offering, as I offer my own prayers of thanks to God.

If I woulda known for sure, I woulda buried my face under your chin and placed a kiss to give an invitation to where your pendant lays to communicate back to me your pleasure.

But I undressed myself and let you undress in the bathroom, because I didn't even suspect.
Into our night clothes we went.


If I woulda known, I woulda asked you sit on my ass longer as you were giving me a massage, just to feel your curls skim my clothed but unbound back as you dug into my shoulders.

If I woulda known for sure, I woulda thought more intently of feeling the warmth and softness of your sweetness against the part of my body on which you were sitting…

If I woulda known for sure, I woulda turned around and reacted unabashed to the way you were using your hands to place light and sensual kisses on the back of my neck, around my ears, on my jawline, cheeks, head, neck, around my ears, neck, head, neck… If I woulda known for sure, I woulda kissed you right then and there, drowning you in the passion of lust coated tenderness.

But I let you slide off of me and let you slip into your tipsy tiredness.

If I woulda known for sure, I woulda grabbed your grabbing hand while you were sleep-searching for my dick and taken it as a sign that maybe, just maybe, you wanted me.

But I pulled myself further away from you, so you wouldn't regret that you tried to touch someone's stuff you might've not been used to sleep-walking into.

If I woulda known for sure, I wouldn't have thought that you were going to think I was taking advantage of the fact that you had no where else to sleep.

If I woulda known, I wouldn't have thought that those feather light touches on my head were a product of some syrup coating your insides like clouds over clear headed thinking and NOT a smoke signal of a kind of love.

If I woulda known for sure, I wouldn't have been so set on being a gentleman in my retreating from an intriguing woman in my hotel bed –

If I woulda known for sure, I woulda been a gentle man and scooped you in my arms as I evenly spread my weight over you, touching you only with the lightest touches of my lips.

If I woulda known for sure, I woulda let one thing lead to another until it go no more.

But I stayed on my side, as the red bull didn't help my skin stop buzzing from excitement that possibly, maybe you were attracted to me – again, I didn't know for sure.

All I knew was that this boy was ready to erupt years of pent up passion somewhere in Concord California.


In my bed, gay or not gay,
I would allow you.
To sleep.
To lay your head after a long day of tending to a friend.
To take away any worry that you would have to,
at that time late at night,
scramble to find a place to stay.
'You can totally stay here', is what I know I said to you.
'Rest easy', is what it meant.

In need of a bed,
I haven't been allowed.
To sleep.
To lay my head after a long day of being denied my very existence.
To take away the worry that I would have to,
at any time of night,
scramble to figure out if I was going to be able to stay alive or mentally sane.
'You can totally stay here', is what I wish to hear from anyone.
'Rest easy' is what I'd hear and want to believe.

Can the world be so mixed in sending out signals?

Can they say "pro life" when some of America hunts faggot babies like me?

Can they say "pro life" when some parents hate that they gave birth?

Can they say "pro life" when even after all being the object of hate and discrimination, I can be then only be an object of lust – because being in touch with your freak fetish is the in thing right now.

Can they say "pro life" without a blemish in their heart, when I I'm struggling to see myself as I clean off the layers of disgust, this dust they've blown on me?

Can they say "pro life" when I find myself searching for some sign that says I deserve to live, that I belong, that my life is worth the stress of this body, that I am beautiful, that I am handsome, that I am seen, that I am seen, that I am seen without remorse.

Can they say "pro life" when one of the babies has a hard time understanding that they are loved for who they are, and not what they do, not what they don't say.

Can they say "pro life" when I can't put into words EVER that it's hard enough believing in yourself. Try trying to believe that you're worth breathing. I can't put into any words what it's like not knowing if you exist because you never see your reflection I can't put into any words what wear and tear exists when your intuition is battling constantly with the ways of the world.

So yes, maybe I know too well how to maneuver in the streets. Maybe I know too well how to not make a scene, even when being me so often does. Maybe I know it like the back of my hand, how easy it is to go from standing up, to laying flat out on gravel. But I don't know a lot and in special places, I would rather not assume, than to know too well.

So someone make this easy, so I don't have to battle my intuition.

Someone tell me I'm handsome, someone tell me I'm worthy of being loved, possibly desired by someone who wants more than a fuck or more than to tear at my soul.

Someone tell me, cuz I get so confused sometimes. Someone tell me so I don't have to read no signs, so I don't have to decipher the signals. Someone tell me, Someone tell us…




http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=prDOWbeXRKM

http://myspace.com/mafias_child