The emotion is real, the topics are heavy, but the packaging? Simple, obvious, even at times juvenile. I suppose I'm too much of a classicist when it comes to poetry. I know styles change, and I know everyone has their own voice, but the poetry I studied was, at its heart, filled with memorable imagery and keyed to the sounds it would make being spoken, even when it didn't rhyme.
This, to me, doesn't have any of that. It's brutally honest, it contains valuable messages of self-love and empowerment that have obviously connected with a great many people, and it's framed thoughtfully as the emotional progression of a life; but this is more like reading someone's diary than a book of poetry. The single- or double-word lines strike me as space-filler; each page has no more than a sentence or two of text total, and I read this in fifteen minutes.
I don't doubt it was a labor of love, but I can't help wishing it had more sophistication and polish