judy holiday

extremely long storyteller.boom girl. socially awkward social butterfly. lover. procrastinator.


(contact)   >>>stalker inquiries here<<<  
Reblogged from yesikastarr

You Are Not My Sadness

yesikastarr:

and you aren’t it’s cure
- let you climb inside of me,
then I understood.

Reblogged from niiiiiicolaaa
If you want to kill yourself, kill what you don’t like. I had an old self that I killed. You can kill yourself too, but that doesn’t mean you’ve got to stop living. (via brxkenpetal)

Lord yes.

(via yesikastarr)

(Source: niiiiiicolaaa, via yesikastarr)

Reblogged from howtobeterrell
It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men. Frederick Douglass (via lookitissasha)

(Source: howtobeterrell, via nilesheron)

Reblogged from thatlupa
afrosinspace:

myownfashiionbook:

queennubian:

sapphrikah:

mytwisteddaceyluv:

dapper-dan-hale:

mrskidderkat:

crookedglasses:

negressive:

youngblackandvegan:

diaryofabaglady:

fuckthesliceiwantthepie:

thatlupa:

"faux pixie crop" "clever"
CACKLING

White ppl try so hard

Jordan was right. These white trying to figure out how to make this happen. I’M DYING

lmao white folk so lost



White people better not steal this shit neevuh! 

FAUX PIXIE CUT? Listen…

Holy shit it’s a hair style yet people are really making it about race do they have nothing better to do or

To those of you (I’m talking you, my white brothers and sisters) who don’t get why this is so funny to nonwhites, you obviously don’t understand black culture. Ri-Ri’s (that’s short for Rhianna) hair wrap, the “faux pixie cut” as some of you are now calling it, is equivalent to a white woman leaving the house in freaking hair rollers and black folks calling it a “faux curly bob” and deciding to trend it and wear it out to the clubs as a fashion statement. Here’s a short history lesson (never say I didn’t teach you anything). Since the early 1960s, AA women have been wrapping their hair this way with hairpins and covering it with a scarf before going to bed at night to keep it neat and smooth. It is not…I repeat…not a hairstyle to wear in public unless you just don’t give a fuck. If ya’ll don’t believe me go ask the one black friend you know, if you happen to have one. I ain’t talking about your one mix black friend who’s as lost as you are. I mean your real one who grew up in a house with a black mama who relaxed her hair and used a straightening comb. Being a WoC, Ri-Ri obviously knew this and didn’t bother to unwrap her hair because she doesn’t give a fuck about the AMAs and wasn’t about to waste a hairstyle on it. Yet, some fool wrote an article about how cute and clever her non-hairstyle looked.  This shit is as funny to us as when white folks were making a huge fuss over Miley Cyrus’ so called ‘twerking’ and even had the nerve to put that shit in the dictionary. THE FUCKING DICTIONARY, SERIOUSLY? Sometimes, PoC can’t help but laugh and shake our heads at this nonsense.

YO, THIS EXPLANATION IS EVERYTHING.
WHITE PEOPLE PLEASE READ.
This was yet another of Rihanna’s not-give-a-fuck moments, perhaps even a fuck-you-you’re-not-important gesture towards the AMAs and the public.

Next white folks will be rolling out the door in satin bonnets.
No lie. And watch the price of bonnets sky rocket

Wthhhhh

THE SATIN BONNET COMMENT THO.
THEY BETTER FUCKING NOT.


I mean&#8230;

afrosinspace:

myownfashiionbook:

queennubian:

sapphrikah:

mytwisteddaceyluv:

dapper-dan-hale:

mrskidderkat:

crookedglasses:

negressive:

youngblackandvegan:

diaryofabaglady:

fuckthesliceiwantthepie:

thatlupa:

"faux pixie crop" "clever"

CACKLING

White ppl try so hard

Jordan was right. These white trying to figure out how to make this happen. I’M DYING

lmao white folk so lost

White people better not steal this shit neevuh! 

FAUX PIXIE CUT? Listen…

Holy shit it’s a hair style yet people are really making it about race do they have nothing better to do or

To those of you (I’m talking you, my white brothers and sisters) who don’t get why this is so funny to nonwhites, you obviously don’t understand black culture. Ri-Ri’s (that’s short for Rhianna) hair wrap, the “faux pixie cut” as some of you are now calling it, is equivalent to a white woman leaving the house in freaking hair rollers and black folks calling it a “faux curly bob” and deciding to trend it and wear it out to the clubs as a fashion statement. Here’s a short history lesson (never say I didn’t teach you anything). Since the early 1960s, AA women have been wrapping their hair this way with hairpins and covering it with a scarf before going to bed at night to keep it neat and smooth. It is not…I repeat…not a hairstyle to wear in public unless you just don’t give a fuck. If ya’ll don’t believe me go ask the one black friend you know, if you happen to have one. I ain’t talking about your one mix black friend who’s as lost as you are. I mean your real one who grew up in a house with a black mama who relaxed her hair and used a straightening comb. Being a WoC, Ri-Ri obviously knew this and didn’t bother to unwrap her hair because she doesn’t give a fuck about the AMAs and wasn’t about to waste a hairstyle on it. Yet, some fool wrote an article about how cute and clever her non-hairstyle looked.  This shit is as funny to us as when white folks were making a huge fuss over Miley Cyrus’ so called ‘twerking’ and even had the nerve to put that shit in the dictionary. THE FUCKING DICTIONARY, SERIOUSLY? Sometimes, PoC can’t help but laugh and shake our heads at this nonsense.

YO, THIS EXPLANATION IS EVERYTHING.

WHITE PEOPLE PLEASE READ.

This was yet another of Rihanna’s not-give-a-fuck moments, perhaps even a fuck-you-you’re-not-important gesture towards the AMAs and the public.

Next white folks will be rolling out the door in satin bonnets.

No lie. And watch the price of bonnets sky rocket

Wthhhhh

THE SATIN BONNET COMMENT THO.

THEY BETTER FUCKING NOT.

I mean…

(via succinctlyso)

Reblogged from sebastianlovett

sebastianlovett:

I’ll probably die with a bottle of Jameson in my hand and a joint still burning in my lips. No one will miss me except maybe a few good lovers who loved the good in me just enough to put up with my shit.

Reblogged from brookdleau
I think, you just have to find someone who’s demons play well with your own. (via brookdleau)
Reblogged from wednesdaysbreakfast

6/30

I hate video games
but I love that YOU love them
because it gives ME time to NOT
want to be around you
and think of the things I could do with that time!!!

I could go back to college
I could grow my hair out
I could learn how to use that storage department
beneath the stove top
I could cure PMS
I could keep up with the Kardashians
I could get myself pregnant
I could hold an entire conversation
with you
where you never interrupt me
I could summon my ancestors
and have them teach me
the electric slide
l could write a poem
a book even
and take it on tour
I could deep clean
like real deep
like under the bed deep
I could buy a duster
…and fuckin use it
I could act out the Titanic
movie from beginning to end
I could learn how to roll a blunt
I could find my mother
redevelop a relationship with her
remember why I can’t stand her
and lose her all over again
I could lose all the beer weight
I’ve gained since the conception
of our relationship
and gain it back
I could organize the ice cubes
in the freezer
by height and weight
I could shave our initials into my pubic hair
I could break up with you
have a rebound
and be back home
before you even processed
“we have to talk…”

Baby, i can do all things through the time it takes you to finish a video game…which strengthen me
but instead…
I’ll probably just do
what I always do
and play Words With Friends
with all my exes

5/30 letter of resignation (first draft)

when you decide to kill yourself

for real this time

start with a nap

make a full out ugly kirsten dunst cry your foreplay

don’t set an alarm

this may take some time

you’re suicide will give you a few hours grace period

after all you are giving it…your life

when you wake up:

check your phone

there are always those angels

who can feel your depression

in their bones

like old southern women know what fish means in a dream

and exactly who’s belly to point to

search the room for signs:

the note on the dry erase board that tells you to “call your mother”

the pebbles at the bottom of your purse

collected by the child you promised ice cream to next week

the book on the coffee table

that answered all the questions before

things people left behind

the sage

maybe it’s time for cleaning

the leftovers in the refrigerator

maybe you’re hungry and not thinking straight

when children are fussy

sometimes it’s the most obvious things overlooked

trouble shoot:

make the place he last sat and laughed full bodied

not a burial site

but a piece of art work only you can still see

open the windows

maybe you just can’t breathe

or see

with all this dark you’ve curled yourself into

consult the frame holding the picture of your father on the wall

ask him to do what he cannot do wrong and pray

pray in tongues

so you can’t argue against a word that he says

finally, pick the one person

who needs you

like nourishment:

sit down and be quiet

take a pen to paper

and I dare you

to explain to that person

who loves you in your failure

and your glory

why you couldn’t just call

why their love was enough

every day but today

why it couldn’t hold you to this earth

why your relationship

an unsaid promise of support

you broke

because today felt too heavy

tell them why this couldn’t have been fixed

with homemade scones

whiskey

prayer

or the ocean

explain they were wrong about you

being a fighter

because you lost

dare to tell them how you were alone

with their name ever present in your call log

I dare you to repeat alone

despite them being in constant prayer

running laps around your name

explain how you couldn’t be here anymore

in a world only made more beautiful by knowing them

make this letter a debate

until you let your memory win

and when it does…

remember:

your life is a room so full of love

it at times makes you claustrophobic

remember

your mother removed the word “abortion”

from her mouth

because you felt like her biggest accomplishment

before you could even kick

remember

you ARE always given a choice

but you are not always in the right enough mind to do so

No…

do not stay on this planet

because someone needs you

but do not leave it

only remembering yourself

and i know you’re so eager to be idolized 

and missed

but obituairies like resumes only get better with time

now:

stop taking yourself so damned serioulsy 

watch wedding crashers

enough of it to laugh the cry out of your voice

then call the friend who makes you laugh

well into snorts and weezing

today

do not mention the bottle of pills

there is no more need for rescue

you have safely climbed yourself out of the tree

just settle back in

to living

and re-learn stay

when you arrive an hour late to work:

and your boss is up in arms

don’t be afraid to tell him

“i almost killed myself this

morning…we should just be happy i’m even here”

4/30 chocolate and tithing (a poem for my father)

growing up

the elder church ladies paid tithes to my smile

worthy like good sermon

with candy

and money

I pursed their offerings

like a savings account

unlike the church

I never spent them

to build

cavities

never came until the later years

the sweet tooth

a peer pressure I succumbed to

easier to fall to

than weed

to this day

my father prides himself

on the knowing

that his daughter is not one for the sweets

in the moments I cannot stand him

I want to scream

“chocolate is everything!”

sort of like “i hate you”

knowing 10 seconds after

you do not mean a word of it

today I told him i’ll be working 10 days straight

he asked to borrow money…jokingly

a parent’s reparation

that most do not plan to actually file for

it reminded me of little girl

daddy finding the tithes of old ladies

in a tiny girl’s purse

and asking for me to buy him a car

I agreed

without protest

whole hearted

passed on the piggy bank

like he was owed

for love

for making perfect parts in my hair for sunday school

for showing me off like new suit

for kissing me like stay

in the days to pass

he arrived in a brand new sports car

said I paid for it

in full

a lie

i’d never find to be so…for years

but until i found out

i told everyone who asked

and everyone who didn’t 

that i bought that car

today I arrived home to a key in my mailbox

a marketing plot from Toyota to get me into the dealership

and the largest part of me wanted to believe

to bite

like it was chocolate

just so I could honestly declare I did in fact give my daddy a car

without the tithings of old church ladies  

3/30 tax season

there comes a point in every relationship

where the drives home the morning after seem too long

the play lists that once made you break into song

now make you suicidal

the charm becomes predictable and annoying

the things that are easily over looked

suddenly become triggers

and before you know it

the sink filled kitchen turns into a gun range

i love myself

i do

but I think I need some time apart from me

drunk me

in my younger years

i invited drunk me to social occasions

she turned every gathering of losers into Revenge of The Nerds

she drank the bad boys under the table

gave the quiet girls something to scream about

she sucked at beer pong

but made up for it with a killer half time show

but lately

she goes too far

two weeks ago she got into a fight with a thorny bush

while trying to use the “bathroom”

and now I have a scar to prove I lost

for the rest of my life

she texts people we’re supposed to be over

cooks late night snacks with the spinach I told her was for green drinks

she put the laundry detergent in the refrigerator

and I couldn’t find it for hours

she emailed while drunk to 3 different jobs

and agreed to work double shifts for a week straight

she took the AA batteries from the wall clock

which made me late for work the next day

and given the time the clock stopped working

i know EXACTLY what she used those batteries for

she left all four ice trays empty

to make “signature cocktails”

AGAIN using ingredients that were meant for green drinks

using just about every cutting board and glass

and never minded to lift a finger to wash a single dish

she took my car remote into the jacuzzi with her at 3 am

a mistake that could have cost us $500 dollars

that she’s too inebriated to work for

she tweets and instantly we have 10 less followers by morning

one night she went grocery shopping and decided to spend 60 dollars

on the ingredients of a manhattan

because it was too late to properly enjoy one in a bar

she had an Amy Winehouse concert at home

and made an outline of how every song relates to her own heartbreak

now…though I don’t recall the details…

i am breaking down in front of people

when Amy plays in the background

In the small of my apt she has managed to lose my bathroom trashcan

I now have to dispose of q-tips and feminine products in the kitchen trash can

she decided since we missed a few work out sessions she’d spend several commercial breaks of New Adventures of Old Christine in inaccurate wall sits and had my knees shot for weeks

but worst of all

she forgets to take an ibuprofen and drink water at the conclusion of her night

and i’m left with a hang over that I don’t have time to mend

I can’t stand her

most nights

but just the other night

mid D.I.Y bartender training at 2 am

she remembered it was tax season

and set an alarm to remind me

for the next day

of course…

I still didn’t file

but it sure did make me smile

that maybe…

just maybe…

she’s becoming a little more responsible

Reblogged from theatlantic

Why Are Venezuelan Prisoners Sewing Their Mouths Shut?

At the lowest end of the prison power structure are los anegados — the unwanted ones — prisoners who have angered the pranes or allies of the pranes, on the inside or outside, and fear for their lives. And so, in an act of desperation, they stitch their mouths shut. Within the country’s prisons there is an unspoken, but religiously followed, agreement among inmates: When one sews his lips, no one can kill him.

[Images: Leo Ramírez](Source: theatlantic)

(via warsanshire)

2/30

I know this a bronco
we’ve met before
too many times to count
and too few to feel routine
we share the same driver
same home address
but do not interact unless necessary
or breakdown
we are landlord
and rented backhouse
strangers
its birth year a question
on the tips of my 3rd grade fingers
too heavy to raise
I do not attempt to google
or guess at an age
your eye roll would deflate me
for not remembering
so I just let it wear us
like black cocktail dress

the radio called in sick
again
so I don’t know how many songs its been since our driveway
but the coffee still smells fresh
so I assume it hasn’t been long
you promised I could seranade the trip
but gave me a limit
of 5 fiona apple songs
I reached my max well before the state line

I try to familiarize myself
with passenger
my right leg
a retired senior
up early and out of work
I bunt my moccasins to the floor
and sit Indian style
you inhale expectantly
sarcastically remind me
to wear socks
again
i watch you
dramatically churn your window absent
I remind you
your arms aren’t what they use to be
that you needed that work out
I pause
tongue search the roof of my mouth
for un-needed cherry …
“…and if I weren’t here you’d miss the stench of me
like the dirty diapers of your deceased infant”
your face an instant transformation
to a nun without a ruler in reach

the silence to follow
a well deserved time out
my hands grazed the seat of my punishment
kin of motel mattress
and movie theater seats
the cushion rolodex
of girls too fun for protest
and dark comedy
these are the only moments I envy them

the open road ahead
a porch down south
begging for too much time to talk
while the two us vocally arm cross and purse lips
we do this
take quiet instead of space
I’m mad you take me so seriously
you’re mad you make ridiculous choices
me
complicated and crass
like this car
classic and simple
only capable of natural air
both great ideas in theory

the car
YOUR car
surrenders before we do
on the side of the road
i watch you quickly eject
like the slinging of a rubber band
scream “fuck” on loop
in various tones
more times than this seat has ever heard
I hold the handle of the door
wait for the space between kernel pops
wait for you to be ready
I bring the tired coffee
for support
sip long
and hope something better
than fictitious deceased babies
try to forget the makings of metaphor
and pray for logic instead
I watch your palms pressed to the hood
stuck
eyes scavenging parts
known and unknown
and I enter slow in confident whisper
“…i’m sorry… really sorry. But, on the bright side…we DO have AAA…dominoes, spaghettios, a can opener, and an 5th of bourbon…
and baby, by the time help gets here we’ll forget this wasn’t a pit stop”
you chuckle
off guard
full
like you chose me
slam the hood shut
I, too comfortable
in your smile, insert:
“…but we totally should’ve taken my car”
you interject in full body charge
and before I know it
I have been playfully soaked in black coffee
you step back
bend over erupting in laughter
only to emerge moments later
holding an imaginary paint brush to the wind
and inspect
the “masterpiece”
you’ve created across my chest
you say it’s your “finest piece yet”
I roll my eyes
in love
tell you “i love you. i do. but it’s shit”
I pull you into me
like jerk of a leash
to the reluctantly obedient
kiss you like time travel
like first date
can feel the seat of your car
on my back
whisper “remember me”
even though we are still standing
outside
I hear you faintly from the past
ramble off facts
about vintage cars
like a nervous historian
and i startle myself present
i point at the bronco just over your shoulder and say
“your car…she’s a 1969”
you stare at me perplexed
“yes… she is…you knew that”

before i loved you 1/30

before i loved you

i kissed

like transition word

like “you’re here”

like bored

last call at the bar

was a buffet of names

to be hoarded

memorized for dark room recital

turned cleared calls

and soon come ex lovers

my hair was long enough

to pull

from any position

and encouraged if you liked it

before i loved you

i didn’t know what I liked

just knew that i wanted

more

of what i was good at getting

i fucked you for sport

and ran all of our games into overtime

i knew more rap lyrics

than love songs

memorized Too Short

and hated Prince

before i loved you

i never dreamed

of calm and stay

of sweaty palms

and learning recipes

the idea of kryptonite seemed absurd

before i  loved you

i was wingless

jumping off the ledge

of everything

without fear

now that i can fly…

i’m more scared than i’ve ever been

and all I want to do is stand

as close to you as i can