1. bohemianrationalist:

I did a thing.

    bohemianrationalist:

    I did a thing.

    Reblogged from: bohemianrationalist
  2. Never make someone a priority when all you are to them is an option.
    Maya Angelou
    Reblogged from: bohemianrationalist
  3. Guess who wrote a sexy poem in church?

  4. prettyfictional:

    If you want to read my inner rambling and be spammed with selfies, check out my personal tumblr bohemianrationalist.

    Reblogged from: prettyfictional
  5. This is a rather fucked up list of things
    I wish I could say to you now, but can’t.
    Firstly, your eyes are my favorite color,
    not because of me, but because of you,
    and I’d be lying if I said I liked
    how I have to look away before too long,
    because otherwise I’ll be naked in front of you,
    tongue tied and incapable of any thought
    beyond oh god, why are you so wonderful.
    I feel like taking you to dinner, getting you drunk,
    and making you forget her.
    I feel like taking you out of town
     in the middle of the night and making you
     remember how sweet it is to have no words,
    so close to death that your brain
    doesn’t know the difference.
    I don’t want to stop until you’re shaking,
    and even then I want you to be so completely gone
    that you can only mumble nothing in particular,
    too deep in throes to register my open adoration
    for every hair, wrinkle, scar, bump, and blemish
    of the skin around your navel.
    I want you to crave my caress,
    when we’re in the car driving to nowhere,
    when we’re in line at Publix, buying the essentials
    because sometimes we just forget to eat,
    and when I take you to church and my fingers
    sneakily draw your profile on the inside of your palm.
    I want to text you cryptic messages
    and watch your face as you read them
    from across the room, right before you look up
     into my eyes with a question mark etched clearly
    on your perfect brow, knowing all the while
     I want to whisper my secrets to you
    while I memorize your smell, lying so close
    that I can feel your heartbeat bleeding into mine.
    It’s not enough to have you when I can anymore.
    It’s not enough for me to make myself forget
     for just a moment, just one fucking moment
    that you’ll go home eventually
     and our little paradise will fade to black
    and I’ll wake up shaken and sweating bullets.
    I want you, I want this, and yet again I want you.
    I want this to be our tomorrow. I want to be
     your yesterday, and I want to be your forever,
    and if I can, I’ll trade you right now. Not right now,
    notrightnownotrightnow; maybe the mantra
     will cease one day, though at this point it’s
     as regular as feeling my pulse behind my ears,
    and I barely understand the gentle way
    our fingers brush together, but I know I can’t
    mistake the little hiccup situated in the pit of
    my stomach when you press your lips to my forehead,
    knowing deep down that I’m doomed, being absolutely  
    blind to right and wrong with you, god, it scares me
    But not quite as much as it tends to turns me on.
    So I’ll just lie here, trembling, wanting your to read this,
    Knowing you never will and I don’t want really want you to.
    I’m not that brave, and not that willing to take a hit, even for you.


  6. If I write one more poem about you
    I might puke.
    Lovesick, Nicki Nemb
    Reblogged from: cruisinontheblue
  7. I want to rip off your logic and make passionate sense to you. I want to ride in the swing of your hips. My fingers will dig in you like quotation marks, blazing your limbs into parts of speech.
    Jeffrey McDaniel (via courtneydunagan)
    Reblogged from: writer-without-a-pen
  8. If you want to read my inner rambling and be spammed with selfies, check out my personal tumblr bohemianrationalist.

  9. bohemianrationalist:

Help, it’s raining and I’m kind of pretty today.

    bohemianrationalist:

    Help, it’s raining and I’m kind of pretty today.

    Reblogged from: bohemianrationalist
  10. I know he says he’s pretty happy
    not taking a drink or a toke, but
    I am not convinced he doesn’t instead
    get drunk on his own folly, mixing work
    with play and getting high on his own ego.
    I am not convinced that he could be so purposefully
    disinterested in how much he owes the hand
    that will feed and comfort him when he needs it most.
    he prefers sobriety, but I’d venture to think he’s addicted to himself.

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