Milk and Honey - Rupi Kaur
If you have ever dealt with any kind of hardship in your life then I beg you to read this.
I've never really made any effort to read a book of poetry, which is a failing on my part because some poets are so talented it blows my mind. “Do not go gentle into that good night” still gives me chills every time, even if that’s literally the only line from that poem that I can remember.
I’d seen parts of Rupi Kaur poems being tweeted out by popular Twitter accounts like ‘Common White Girl’ and the like, and had been really surprised by how much impact she created by just a few words. It had always been in the back of my mind that her book, Milk and Honey might be worth picking up at some point but until it came up recommended on my Amazon, I hadn’t done anything about it.
I’m glad I finally did.
First of all, the design of the book is gorgeous. Charcoal black cover dotted with white single line drawings…it’s definitely eye catching. The single line drawings, which are often quite explicit, are a theme that continues throughout the entire book and really emphasis the feeling of the book being some kind of diary to the author. We as the reader are really looking inside her, seeing first hand this raw and beautiful and terrifying glimpse into her soul.
The book is split into four sections, “the hurting”, “the loving”, “the breaking” and “the healing”. Words completely fail me.
I wish, I wish I had the ability or the talent to put into words the way that this book affected me (and two of my friends after I nagged them to read it). But it’s almost impossible. My experiences in life have been nothing like hers and yet with a few words she managed to plough up old hurt. Maybe the hurt didn’t even exist, maybe I was feeling hers second-hand but either way, it was overwhelming.
Everyone can connect to something in this book, whether it’s the breakdown of a relationship, falling in love for the first time or even just the way you look at yourself. It’s a cathartic, intense experience that will drag you in and refuse to let you leave until it has scrubbed you raw and forced you to walk in your own dark, hidden spaces.
Not only that, according to the book she was twenty one when she wrote this. TWENTY ONE.
If my fumbling attempt to convince you to read this work of art, has failed, then below I’ve copied my favourite poem from the book.
Please, please give it a try.
did you think i was a city big enough for a weekend getaway? i am the town surrounding it the one you’ve never heard of but always pass through there are no neon lights here no skyscrapers or statues but there is thunder for i make bridges tremble i am not street meat i am homemade jam thick enough to cut the sweetest thing your lips will touch i am not police sirens i am the crackle in a fireplace i’d burn you and you wouldn’t take your eyes off me cause i’d look so beautiful doing it you’d blush i am not a hotel room. i am home i am not the whiskey you want i am the water you need don’t come here with expectations and try to make a vacation out of me
- rupi kaur