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I'll be honest: I don't like Halsey as a person (or, well, I don't like the Halsey I perceive as a public figure, more accurately, since I don't know what she's like as a person, not really). I like the majority of her music, though. I put off reading this for quite a while because I didn't really want to read another half-assed book of Instapoetry by a famous person.

In retrospect, I should have remembered that Halsey is an excellent songwriter, and not worried so much. This collection is pretty damn good! And pointedly not Instapoetry -- Halsey displays both effort and care in her poems, which...I just...why are we living in a world where that's a rare thing?!

So. I might have a secret soft spot for her, now. Damn it, good poets are my one weakness. :P

The good: Halsey's writing strength is definitely in her imagery. She doesn't apply it as often as I think she could, but when she does, it's brutally satisfying. She takes what is rough and simple and makes it very engaging, creating a definite picture in your mind -- it honestly put me in the mind of bright, sharp-edged street art. Her rhythm is also quite good, if a little irregular (there are some weird line break positions in a few of these which interrupt the flow of the reader), and a lot of these poems, I suspect, may have been song possibilities at some point.

The bad: Some of the rhyme structures in a few of these don't quite fit the themes she's writing about. In my opinion, a very tough-to-chew piece like "A Story Like Mine" needs a little more gravity, and the quick half-rhymes of some lines just feel...off? A little distracting?

But overall? This is some good stuff. Really good stuff, in fact. I'd love to read further poetry from Halsey, and am really looking forward to how she grows poetically.

I'm fully aware that dusty pink is an actual colour, but despite this, all I can think now is that Lang Leav has dusty nipples.

Oh, the 'poetry'? Sophmoric and reads like something some pretentious, desperately horny first-year sociology student would scribble down in an attempt to convince his friends that he's deeper than them and really truly understands women. And gets tonnes and tonnes and TONNES of amazing kinky sex.

Congrats on the sex, I guess?

There's this...thing...with the Instapoetry crowd. Before anyone starts on me: yes! I do think Instapoetry is legitimate poetry! Much the way William Topaz McGonagall's writings were also legitimate poetry. I hate both of them, but that's not the point.

But, you know, as awful as McGonagall's poetry is, I have to give him credit that I can't give to the Instapoetry set: he did not give two shites what anyone else thought of his writing. You can't say that about Instapoets. The amount of knickers I have seen gotten into twists about people not "understanding" this sort of poetry (read as: not enjoying) and thus being dreadful people has been...I mean, mostly annoying (anyone recall Lang Leav's passive aggressive "I make more money than you so therefore your opinion on my poetry is void teehee" Tumblr post?), but also mildly amusing. And credit where credit's due: Gabbie "I AM The Victim" Hanna has taken this apparently required facet of being an Instapoet (because come on, we all know she is) to all new heights. I would be impressed if I wasn't so disgusted by the way she has gone after wholly well-meaning, fair critics who have taken the time out of their lives by giving her honest and helpful critique when they could be doing something entirely more useful, for all the good it did.

Yes, Hanna writes about heavy subjects -- sometimes. (Mostly she writes about herself and how awful and dreadful and difficult her life and everyone in it is.) Excuse my Klatchian, but that. doesn't. mean. shit. Tough themes are not a bloody get-out-of-jail-free card in poetry. (Again, back to McGonagall: "The Tay Bridge Disaster" honors the 75 lives lost in the incident the poem gets it title from. Horrible sad subject, yes, but the poem is just dreadful.) Her imagery is still shallow and weak, she shows no knowledge of form or rhythm, and she has no interest in improving (because she obviously thinks she's perfect). I can only assume that this shows how little she values poetry on the whole. I mean, what else am I supposed to think?

Mature, dedicated writers crave deep and dedicated critique. As a writer, I think I would go absolutely mad without someone willing to tear into my poetry and tell me where the weaknesses are and what the strengths are, what I might be overlooking, what could be added. Does a writer have to change everything their critics say should be different? No! You use what you think could work and muse on what you think doesn't, ask yourself why you think it would or wouldn't work, so on, so forth. If you value your work, be brave and honest enough to tear it apart. It is really, really hard to do this by yourself, and that's why critique is pure gold to any writer!

And Gabbie, should you read this: critique is N O T bullying. Misrepresenting a video of constructive criticism from someone who openly displays knowledge about and a deep love for poetry as a "hate campaign" and calling said reviewer misogynistic slurs, however, certainly is. Not everybody is going to find you a poetic genius or deep or magical or whatever other smoke your publishers have been blowing up your backside (and yes, publishers will definitely lie to you -- they're in it to make money, very few care about the quality of what's being published. "Published" is not a synonym for "good", it's a synonym for "marketable"). Either your poetry is legitimate literature, and thus can be critiqued (not just by people you approve of/will kiss your backside, either), or it's beyond criticism, in which it's not poetry any more, it's just a glorified Twitter rant in book form. If you can't take the heat, spare us all your wastes of trees. Literally nobody is required to pad their critique in cotton wool just because your fragile ego cannot handle any criticism at all.

The nastier part of me wants to tell people who act this way to simply put their pens down, but that wouldn't help anything. So instead: try to become a better poet. As let down by her work and as disgusted by her behaviour as I am, even Gabbie can still do this. Whether she will or not is up to her.

(I won't hold my breath.)