I really do appreciate what Andrews McMeel does for young, fresh poets like this--I gave Rupi Kaur's "Milk and Honey" 5 stars without even really considering it a great work of poetry. What it does for teenage girls is invaluable, it feels so universal, and the fact that the bookstore where I work has sold so many copies to young women makes me hopeful for this movement of self-love.

This book, however, is a bland imitation of that, and I can't for the life of me remember a single word from half an hour of reading this in Barnes & Noble. Maybe in another book of Sin's this is successful, but the badass cover art doesn't even save this from feeling like 3am iPhone notes you wake up and delete.