This book of poetry is everywhere, isn’t it? I had seen it on bedside tables, coffee tables and bookshelves all over the world for years, and so of course I had to buy it when I came across a second-hand copy — for, according to the price label still stuck on it, a mere 50c.
Some of the poems contained in its pages only span a couple of lines. Others are longer, and more detailed. But almost all of them pack a punch, as Kaur — kaur? She’s clearly decided to do the e. e. cummings thing and go all lowercase all the time, for both her name and her work — explores sexuality, abuse, self-image and toxic relationships in often stark, often beautiful, but always intense sentences, or fragments of sentences, that just hurt.
I didn’t love it, exactly, but I am very impressed with kaur’s candour, and her courage. It feels like she ripped open her heart and threw it on the page, and while it is not a comfortable read, at all, it is impactful.
I am glad I read it. But I will never read it again.
TBR DAY 264: milk and honey by rupi kaur
TIME ON THE TBR: 3 years.
PURCHASED FROM: Op shop.
KEEP: Probably not?