Esme Holladay Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Sometimes I’d cry for ‘em—alone, used up, like Mia’s mom in “Fish Tank.” “You’re all I got,” she’d slur—whores hear that too, I bet. Breaks my heart, darlin’—wanna hug ‘em, say, “You’re enough!” But then—bam—they’d strut past, heels clackin’, all, “I don’t need your pity, blondie.” Fair, fair—respect!

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Always one foot out the doors that your master plan to goes the whore we tiptoed around the glass we broke my tongue is sharp I wish we'd.

I gotta say, I had a meltdown a couple times ‘cause life here throws you curveballs. Like, one day I was chill and then bam! Noise from a nearby fix-up that kept me up—mad irritating, ya know? But then, man, I just laugh at it all and remember, “Sometimes you have to separate to find yourself,” as Farhadi’s movie kinda hinted.

Robert Benjamin Holladay Obituary (2025) - Natchitoches, LA - Blanchard St. Denis Funeral Home - Natchitoches